TCOT Savvy Secretary
by E. Wallace
Summary: A bit of accidental eavesdropping changes the course of Della Street's life.
1. Chapter 1

Erle Stanley Gardner may or may not have had a backstory for how our favorite couple met. The characters Perry Mason, Della Street, Paul Drake and Gertie Lade are his.

This is my version and all other characters are mine.

The Case of the Savvy Secretary  
By E. Wallace  
2012

Monday

"All he sees is a secretary! I'm not even sure he knows I'm female!"

Della Street paused in applying her lipstick to glance at the speaker. It wasn't hard to pick her out, even in a courthouse restroom crowded with secretaries and clerks at the beginning of a lunch break.

Two sinks down stood a leggy, curvaceous blonde in an exquisite olive linen suit with jewelry that seemed rather expensive for a secretary. She was clearly the leader of a group as two brunettes and a redhead hovered around her.

_'I wonder if she would trade jobs with me,'_ Della thought, evaluating her own reflected image for a moment. After a mere five months, working for a man who _always_ noticed she was female was getting tiresome.

"Maybe you should give it a little more time," the redhead offered in a placating tone that didn't sound the least bit convincing.

The blonde wasn't interested in any independent thinking. "I've already wasted four years! If he was going to make a play, he would have done it by now."

_'That nixes the trading jobs idea.'_ Della's boss already had a wife... and an ever changing string of girlfriends. It didn't sound as though this young lady was interested in being part of a harem.

"Besides, I'm tired of him calling at all hours of the night, dragging me out to who knows where to help some good-for-nothing who doesn't know how to stay out of trouble."

"But he pays well, right?"

"What good is that if I hardly have time to spend it?" Her gaze darted away from her friends to focus on her reflection. "Anyway, I gave my notice this morning."

That flustered her entourage, whether at her audacity or that they hadn't been privy to the decision wasn't clear. "You didn't! What did he say?"

The blonde faltered before answering with forced nonchalance. "Not much really, asked if I was unhappy with the job."

Della heard several coughs from other listeners in the crowded room - coughs that sounded suspiciously like smothered snickers. It seemed she was known to more than just her group.

"What did you tell him?"

"I couldn't exactly say I was tired of waiting for him. Just said I'd had another offer. He didn't even ask where. Well, he's got two weeks to make up his mind." The blonde stepped back from the mirror, smoothed her skirt down over her hips, and crouched just a bit to double check her hair.

Everybody wore their height differently, and Della had always felt comfortable with her five foot five and a half inch stature - with the occasional elevation to an even five foot eight, depending on her shoes - but once in a great while she would feel a flash of envy toward women who didn't spend their days at eye level with chins and necktie knots.

The group swept out the door, Della trailing in their wake. She watched them head for the cafeteria before turning in the opposite direction to the elevators.

**~P&D~**

Della's own job never took her beyond the County Clerk's office on the first floor or the Probate offices on the second floor. She only breathed the rarified air of the upper levels, specifically the criminal courts on the fifth floor, when she could sneak up there to sit in on a trial or when she had lunch plans with Elaine Nelson.

She had her hand on the doorknob of Judge Helton's chambers only to have it pulled out of her grasp as the door swung inward. She stepped aside on the chance that an irate DA, lawyer or defendant was about to come bursting out. It had happened before.

She found herself looking up into the most amazing pair of blue eyes that went from startled to charming in a split second.

"Sorry, I didn't know you were there." The whiskey smooth baritone was a perfect compliment to his handsome features.

"It's quite all right," she replied, pleased that her own voice didn't quaver.

He let her enter then closed the door behind him as he left. She gave it a moment's thought but had to shake off the feeling that he was somehow familiar when nothing came to mind.

"Hi, kid; I'll be ready in just a minute."

Della didn't think twice about the nickname. Elaine was always professional at work, but her greeting to Della rarely changed, no matter where she was.

"No rush, I'm a bit early. Hello, Judge Helton."

"Miss Street," the portly man acknowledged her with a smile. "Things going well at the firm?"

"Just fine, sir."

"Glad to hear it. You girls enjoy your lunch."

"We will," Elaine replied. She liked working for her boss as much as Della disliked working for hers. "We'd better get downstairs so we can get a table."

Judge Helton watched them leave. Given who she worked for, he was always impressed with the Street girl's professionalism... but he didn't doubt for a minute that Elaine got an earful nearly every time they were together.

**~P&D~**

Despite a two year age difference, Elaine and Della had been best friends growing up, the sister neither had. Toddler Della was inconsolable the day Elaine went to first grade without her. Elaine, feeling very grown up, began calling Della 'kid' to prove her superiority. In less than a week, the superiority was forgotten but the nickname stuck, becoming almost an endearment. They traded chicken pox, mumps and measles as children; clothes, shoes and make up as teenagers. They had secrets from their parents and their brothers but never from each other.

Outgoing girls who did well in school academically and socially, they admired their mothers for being happy wives and homemakers, but they were both aware that the world was changing and alternatives were opening up every day. It wasn't that they were looking for something better, just... _different_. Marriage and children were always possibilities, but they weren't the only option.

In search of that elusive 'different', the girls combined Elaine's idea of attending business school after high school with Della's suggestion of specializing in law since she had a preference where Elaine didn't.

By the time Della was taking her first business courses, the age difference played in their favor. Elaine was working for a local firm and convinced them to give Della a summer internship with a small stipend. Upon graduation, Della was given a full time position earned on her own merit.

Things, of course, didn't always run according to plan. With unspoken misgivings, Elaine watched Della get engaged to a perfectly nice guy for all the wrong reasons. She was equally silent a few weeks later as she sat outside in the car while Della gave Michael Dominico his ring back.

A particularly cold Midwest winter led to a discussion of warmer climes that was quickly narrowed down to sunny Los Angeles. Weeks of clandestine preparation, followed by an equal amount of time spent cajoling, convinced their parents to give their reluctant approval. It helped that Della's Aunt Mae already lived nearby and they could stay with her until they got jobs and an apartment.

Within a month of their arrival, they were hired by the same law firm. While Della joined the secretarial pool, Elaine's additional experience in criminal law worked in her favor when the firm's leading attorney was in need of a new confidential secretary. He was appointed to a judgeship a year and a half later and took Elaine with him.

**~P&D~**

Della joined the cafeteria line while Elaine scouted out a table. Lawyers and judges went to restaurants; clerks and secretaries ate in the cafeteria and had to be back at their desks before those lawyers and judges returned so the line moved quickly. The clatter of trays and dishes and glasses punctuated the general burble of voices.

Della chose a roast beef sandwich, potato salad, a large fudge brownie and two coffee cups. She and Elaine could split a lunch but neither was willing to skimp on coffee.

"Afternoon, Della; you lose the toss today?" the cashier teased as she counted back the change.

"No, it was just my turn," Della replied with a smile, dropping the coins in her pocket. "Thanks, Sadie."

Steadying the tray, Della scanned the room for Elaine, finally locating her two tables over from the quartet she had seen earlier in the ladies' room.

Since Elaine knew all the good courthouse gossip, Della couldn't resist asking, "Do you know them?" as she nodded toward the group.

Elaine didn't need to look, having spotted them when she sat down. "The queen and her court? Yeah, the brunettes are Edwina Gregory and Martha Lawrence, but I can never remember which is which; they both work in Jury Selection. The redhead is Ruth Kincaid; she's somewhere in Family court. Her majesty, the blonde," Elaine gave a haughty toss of her head to emphasize her distain, "is Carol Fremont; she's confidential secretary for Perry Mason. She thinks the whole 'working-for-a-private-attorney' deal gives her royal status, and the others fawn over her for no reason I can understand. Honestly, I haven't seen a clique like that since the seventh grade. Why?"

Della chuckled at the all too appropriate allusion. "I saw them in the ladies room. Carol Fremont was telling them and anyone in earshot - which was everybody - that she had given her notice."

Elaine swallowed wrong at the unexpected news. "She quit?" she mumbled into her napkin. "Are you sure?"

"I don't know what upset her more," Della sipped her coffee, "that he never saw her as anything more than a secretary or that he wasn't bothered to hear she was leaving."

"You should apply for that job, Della."

"Sure, I'll get in line behind all those other girls who heard her."

Elaine waved off the objection. "Don't worry about them. There might be one or two, but the ones who are happy with their jobs won't think of changing and the others just want what Carol wants."

"Which is?"

"To _marry_ a lawyer, not work for one; and since she's already declared he's not interested in her, none of them will think they have a chance with Mr. Mason either if he could resist Miss Tall, Blonde and Willing."

"She doesn't come from money?"

"No, she's pretty much like you and me. Why?" Elaine replied, not quite understanding the purpose behind the question.

"Her clothes are high quality and her jewelry is superb even for paste. They passed me in a group but I'm pretty sure the expensive perfume I smelled was hers," Della explained slowly as she readjusted her perceptions of the woman. "One of her interchangeable friends made a comment about Mr. Mason paying well so it must be true if he's not supplementing her income on the side - and if he was she wouldn't be quitting."

Elaine trusted Della's evaluation. She herself didn't wear perfume, and she would have an entire closet of identical suits in black and navy if it weren't for the fact that she always went shopping with Della and bought whatever her friend suggested she buy. Della could identify most perfumes with a single whiff, had an innate sense of style and the self-confidence to make rags look like haute couture. She was also an excellent judge of people.

"I don't know what he pays, but he makes her work for it. Last week I heard her complaining about being out late the night before. She's not even terribly appreciative that Mr. Mason buys her dinner most nights."

"No wonder he's not upset about her quitting; she doesn't seem to grasp the confidential part of confidential secretary."

"She must be good enough if he never fired her."

Della took a bite of her half of the brownie. "If she's seriously husband hunting like you say, I wonder why she hung around for four years when he wasn't interested."

"You got a good look at those eyes, why do you think?" At her friend's puzzled frown, Elaine added, "That was Mr. Mason leaving the office as you came in."

Now Della knew why he seemed familiar. She had seen his picture in the paper several times, usually on the front page but occasionally in the gossip columns. He looked different in person and without a caption.

"What's he like?"

"Brilliant, you know that from the papers, but he's not that way in person." When Della giggled, Elaine couldn't help but join her. "Okay, that didn't come out right. What I mean is he's confident, not arrogant. When he wins a case, he never gloats about it."

"Carol Fremont must want to catch a husband pretty badly to give up a job with a paragon like that." Della checked her watch. "And speaking as a girl who doesn't work for a paragon like that, I've got to get back to the office before Mr. Hays returns from lunch."

They cleared their table and left the cafeteria making way for other hungry patrons.

Waiting by the elevators, Elaine tried one more time. "Think about that job with Perry Mason, please? You'll never get anything like it at Murphy and Young."

"All right, I'll think about it," Della conceded. "I'll call you tonight."

**~P&D~**

Thursday

Della's trips to the courthouse were always dependant on the amount work to be processed and the importance of the clients on Mr. Hays' schedule.

She had friends in both the County Clerk's office and the Probate office who let her leave several documents at a time without having to wait around for them so she could observe various cases in progress. She never sat in on a case being handled by any attorney from her own firm. The majority of them wouldn't recognize her outside their common context of the office, but she couldn't take the chance of something being said to Mr. Hays.

Today, she managed to catch about twenty minutes of Perry Mason in action.

**~P&D~**

Friday

The phone began to ring as Della slipped her key into the lock of her apartment door.

"I'm coming, I'm coming," she muttered, juggling her purse and the bag of groceries she had picked up on her way home. Grabbing the receiver on the fourth ring, she gasped, "Hello?"

"Hi, kid. I can't talk long; I'm on my way out to meet Elliot at a club in the valley." Elliot Moreland was Elaine's boyfriend. A Julliard trained bass player, he had discovered he preferred playing in a jazz quartet rather than a symphony orchestra. Della was a better judge of other things, but she still knew he was talented.

"What's so important?"

"Carol Fremont was in late this afternoon. She said it was her last day and after some half decent acting on my part I got her to confide that Mr. Mason told her he would still pay her but it wasn't necessary for her to work out her full two weeks' notice. You have to go for this, Della. You're more than a match for any secretary actually interested in the job."

_"A job that provids the possibility of adventure at all hours, good pay and a boss who keeps his hands to himself?"_ Della would never forgive herself if she didn't try.

"Okay, okay, you convinced me. I'll see if I can set up an interview."

"Good, now write this down." Elaine rattled off a phone number.

Della read it back to her before asking, "Whose number is this?"

"Perry Mason's."

"How did you get that?"

"I call law offices all the time about cases and schedule changes. I checked after lunch on Monday to be sure I had Mr. Mason's on file. Now you have no reason to chicken out and not call. Let me know how it goes."

"Yes, ma'am."

**~P&D~**

Saturday

Della spent the day at the main branch of the library looking at microfilm of newspaper stories about the famed attorney.

**~P&D~**

Sunday

Newspapers again provided the source for Della's research as she checked the employment section of the major publications to verify that Perry Mason had placed an ad. None had his name on them, but she recognized MA5-1190 as his phone number. She admired the move, understanding that he wanted applicants interested in the job not the employer.

**~P&D~**

Monday

Della called Perry Mason's office first thing to inquire about the open position. The receptionist, after a long and unapologetic wait, gave her an appointment for 1:00 on Wednesday.

Then she set about learning everything that wasn't in the newspaper stories.

Much of the public information was easy to get from the California Bar Association. Back in her secretarial pool days, she had used the resource to find out about opposing counsel in cases Murphy and Young handled. It always amazed her that a group who would risk jail to protect the confidentiality of their clients was so eager to talk about their own members.

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Tuesday

"I can't see you tonight, Stephen." Della kept her voice low and her eye on the private office door to her left. Her boss didn't like personal phone calls unless they were for him. Keeping track of which women were on his 'take her call/don't take her call' list was a daily feat. Chatting with his jealous, suspicious, vitriolic wife was another joy altogether.

The voice on the other end of the wire was trying to sound persuasive but it ended up as plaintive. "Come on, Della. I need to talk to you about something important."

She sighed. She didn't go out much during the week and with her interview tomorrow she didn't want to go out tonight, but Stephen could be obstinate. She also didn't want to fight with him over the phone.

"Alright... but it has to be an early night. I've got a full day tomorrow."

"Shall I pick you up at the office?" Smugness entered the tone now that he had gotten his way.

"That will be fine." It really wasn't, none of this was, but it was the easiest thing to say.

**~P&D~**

Della had a personal rule against dating any of the lawyers at her firm. If things went wrong, it was always the secretary who left - and took a reputation with her. Della still dated lawyers, just none at Murphy and Young.

It had been 'a friend of a friend of a friend' connection that introduced Della to Stephen Raines at a party full of secretaries, clerks and junior associates from various firms. They danced, talked - Stephen could be a bit pompous, but Della hadn't met many lawyers who weren't - and had enough of a good time for him to ask her to dinner the following week.

They continued to see each other regularly, but not exclusively.

**~P&D~**

Della lagged behind the crush of employees leaving not only Murphy and Young, which took up an entire floor, but all the nine to fivers who worked on the other nineteen floors. Plenty of people knew she had been dating Stephen, but she didn't want anybody speculating about him picking her up in the middle of the week.

The sidewalk was crowded with people who couldn't care less about whose car she got into, but Della was pleased to see him at the curb a little way down from the front of the building. She didn't wait for him get out but opened the door herself and slid in.

"Hello, Della; you look lovely."

"Not bad for the end of the day," Della conceded as she realized something about him was different. "You're looking pretty good yourself. That's a new suit your wearing, isn't it?" It looked new... and expensive. Stephen wasn't the frivolous type. He dressed well but not extravagantly, so this was a bit out of the ordinary for him.

It was also unusual that it looked so good on him. Stephen's style attitude was more 'a suit is a suit' but someone had taken the time to convince him to buy the charcoal pinstripe that accentuated his sandy hair and gray eyes rather than overpowering them.

He preened a bit, adjusting his tie in the rearview mirror. "They'll be deciding on the new junior partnerships soon, and I thought I should look the part. Appearance doesn't mean as much as billable hours, but it's still important."

Since Benson-Mead was nearly twice the size of Murphy and Young Della thought it would take more than a few new suits to make Stephen stand out. He wasn't a bad lawyer; he just wasn't an exceptional one.

**~P&D~**

Stephen made her a drink and they made small talk while he cooked. They'd had dinner in his apartment before. He served basic bachelor fare but he did it well. Whatever had been so urgent that he had to see her tonight didn't seem to be important enough for him to get to the point.

Della kept up her end of the conversation during dinner, declined his offer of wine, and finally balked when he wanted to make coffee.

"What did you want to talk about, Stephen?"

"Let's go in the other room."

The apartment was small which meant getting from the dining area that fit two intimately - four was a tight squeeze - to the living area took all of about ten steps. She sat on the couch while Stephen stayed on his feet.

Della watched him pace back and forth a couple of times before prodding him again. "Either get to the point, Stephen, or take me home."

Stephen stopped and squared his shoulders but didn't look her in the eye as he blurted, "I'm going to be married."

"Married?" she repeated blankly. It took her a moment to process the fact that he was announcing not proposing.

"Her name is Alicia Mead. She's the daughter of one of our senior partners."

Della certainly wasn't in love with Stephen... but how could he still be seeing her if he was serious enough about another woman to propose?

He didn't stop talking long enough to gauge her reaction. Her agreement was expected simply because it was what he wanted. Switching to 'summation to the jury' mode, he said, "I'll be made a partner, of course, and take on the extra workload that goes with it. There will be social commitments with Alicia as well which will limit the time you and I can be together. We'll find you a new apartment near the office; I'll make up any difference in rent."

"Stephen, stop. I'm not moving and nobody is paying my rent but me. You're getting married; why would we still be seeing each other? In fact, why am I here now?"

He sat next to her, his smile ingratiating. "I like you, Della. I don't want to stop seeing you. As I said about the rent, I'll take care of you." He laid his hand on her knee, squeezing lightly.

Shoving his hand away, Della leapt to her feet. She moved to the other side of the room, not really believing the turn the evening had taken. Their relationship had never gone beyond a few heavy petting sessions, and now he expected her to be his mistress? Della felt cheap even though she hadn't done anything wrong. "Stephen, it's beyond insulting that you think I would ever agree to such an arrangement. I don't want to be taken care of, not by you or anybody else. And even if I did, I would prefer to be taken care of by a man who's married to me, not to another woman."

"Della, let me explain." He rose and moved toward her but she backed away.

"Explain what? You get to be the shining son-in-law of a senior partner; I get to be the dirty little secret you see when you don't have a social commitment with your wife. Isn't that the gist of your plan?"

"It doesn't have to be like that."

"Then you'll be the first man in the history of the world to figure out how to make it not 'be like that'," she snapped. "You can just find somebody else to be named as co-respondent when Alicia Mead wises up."

"Damn it, Della, stop being naïve. This is a perfectly workable situation for both of us."

"For a lawyer, you have a surprisingly limited grasp of the English language," she sneered. "It's not naiveté, it's self-respect. You think I'm good enough to sleep with but not good enough to marry. Well, I happen to think you're not good enough for either."

"It's not that, Della," he countered, his face flushing at the unanticipated insults. "Alicia has excellent professional and social connections."

"She also has excellent taste in suits," Della said, making the connection to her earlier thoughts about the addition to his wardrobe, "too bad she doesn't have the same talent for choosing the men who wear them. Tell me, Stephen, exactly where did 'line up mistress' fall on your life plan's to-do list?"

"Sarcasm doesn't suit you. Besides, Alicia knows how things are; her father has had a mistress for years."

_'And he's calling me naïve,'_ Della thought, rolling her eyes. "I seriously doubt Alicia knows anything about her father's mistress, and no matter how he runs his private life, it's quite likely that Mr. Mead will take a very different view of you cheating on his daughter." She shook her head. "Why am I trying to convince you you're wrong? In fact, why am I still here?" Turning on her heel she started toward the small table by the door where her purse and gloves lay.

Stephen stepped in front of her and caught her left arm.

"Let me go!" she ordered.

"Why won't you just listen to me?" His voice rose angrily. "You're being ridiculous. Just calm down and listen to reason."

"You're the one not listening, Stephen. I don't want any part of your arrangement. Cheat on your wife if you want to, but you won't be doing it with me. Let me go."

She tried to pull away and his grip tightened painfully.

Fresh anger surged through her system... and a thread of fear. Drawing her free arm back, she clenched her fist and delivered a right hook that would have made Rocky Marciano proud. She had thought it was silly when Elaine's older brother, Curtis, taught it to them before they left home, but now she was glad. The punch connected solidly, and she felt a sickening crunch she hoped was his nose and not her fingers.

Stephen cried out, his hands flying to his face, blood seeping through his fingers to drip onto his shirt.

Della's first impulse was to leave, but the aggression seemed to drain out of him along with the blood. Ignoring the dull pain in her hand and arm, she went into the kitchen. She found a couple of towels in a drawer, wrapped some ice in one and returned to find him sitting in a chair with his handkerchief pressed to his nose.

"Here." She took the bloody handkerchief from him in exchange for the empty towel. He wiped most of the blood from his face then managed a few ineffective swipes at his ruined shirt before giving up. "Hold this here," she said, positioning the ice pack on his face with more gentleness than he probably deserved, "and tilt your head back." She placed her index finger to the center of his forehead and pressed. He resisted for a moment then dropped his head back with a groan.

His indignance lost a good deal of its force when aimed around the striped kitchen towel. "Why did you hit me?"

"You wouldn't let go, I defended myself. Be glad I didn't use my other option. If I had, you'd still be laying on the floor holding something other than your nose." Della didn't seriously think she could ever use the knee lift move that had been another lesson from Curtis - but then she never thought she would ever use the right hook either.

With the subject of a continuing relationship clearly closed, there was nothing to talk about and an awkward silence settled between them.

After about ten minutes, Della had him lower the ice pack. "I think the bleeding's stopped."

Stephen shoved the soggy, bloody mess into her hands and went to the mirror hanging in the entryway.

Della took the towel into the kitchen, dropped it in the sink and washed her hands. When she returned to the other room, Stephen was cursing softly at the bruises already beginning to form beneath his eyes.

"How the hell am I going to explain this to Alicia?"

"If you can't come up with a story for a simple broken nose, how do you think you're ever going to conceal a mistress from her?" Della sniped. Seeing him flinch as he gingerly assessed the damage, her compassionate nature came to the fore. She wasn't sorry she had defended herself, but she never liked to see anyone in pain. "You should see a doctor about that."

He glared at her in the mirror.

Feeling her consideration fade rapidly, she answered with a 'be that way' shrug and began to gather her things.

"Where are you going?"

"Home, obviously."

"Let me drive you."

"I'll get a cab."

"Della, it's the least I can do," he said with forced generosity.

She bit back the retort that he had already done the least he could do for her. Besides, why should she have to pay for a cab just because he was a jerk? "All right."

"I'll change my shirt then we can go."

He returned in a clean shirt and a sport coat.

Della pulled on her gloves as Stephen followed her down the stairs. The good manners his mother had drummed into him came reflexively to the fore as he reached for her elbow, but her icy look told him that touching her wasn't a good idea.

He opened the car door but just as Della started to get in she turned back to him.

"Stephen, if you truly love Alicia, then marry her. Be happy and forget about having a girlfriend on the side. If it's because she's a senior partner's daughter and has connections, don't do it. She deserves better... and, although I wouldn't have said this twenty minutes ago, so do you."

The sincerity in her words grated on Stephen, and he slammed the car door just a bit harder than necessary once she was inside.

The ride was silent as Stephen concentrated on driving while Della stared out the side window.

She couldn't bring herself to believe her judgment of his character had been so far off the mark. She _knew_ he was a nice guy which made his behavior tonight all the more baffling. What had she missed?

"Hang on!"

Stephen's shout startled her and Della had no time to react before the entire world shifted around her. She heard the squeal of tires as the car skidded.

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

There was a jarring thump a split second before Della's head cracked sharply on the side window, and she felt her already sore hand get slammed between the door and her body. Dazed, she reached for the door handle only to cry out as pain shot all the way past her elbow to her shoulder when she pulled. She used her left hand, got the door open and slid out, leaning on the car to keep from falling down. There was more pain, this time in her head, as she was caught in the headlights of a car that had pulled up behind the accident.

Officer Mark Donovan had seen the accident happen as he turned the corner. Although it wasn't a hard crash, he couldn't quite tell what had caused it.

The driver was moving around inside the car, but the officer's attention was drawn to the passenger side when the door opened and a girl slid out, stumbling back against the car as she tried to orient herself.

Flicking on his flashlight, Donovan made a couple of cursory passes over the vehicle before turning it on the girl. She was well dressed and there were no visible injuries although she was holding her head. He saw her grimace and dropped his light so it wasn't shining directly in her eyes.

"Are you alright, miss?"

"I hit my head." Lowering her hand, she looked blankly at the darkened fingertips of her white glove. Her stomach flip-flopped when she realized it was blood. She swallowed hard and prayed she wouldn't embarrass herself by losing her dinner.

Donovan saw her waver. "Why don't you sit in the car -"

"No, thank you." Her head still hurt but as the fog in her brain began to lift she knew she didn't want to be in Stephen Raines' car ever again for any reason.

Noting the unusually strong response, Donovan said, "All right, let's step up onto the sidewalk. How did this happen?"

Stephen was out of the car now and he moved in front of Della to answer the question. "It was nothing serious, officer. There was a dog in the road; I didn't see it until the last minute. I swerved to miss it and lost control of the car."

The officer played his flashlight around the dark area beyond the pool of light afforded by the street lamp they stood under. "Where is this dog, Mister -?"

"Raines, Stephen Raines. I don't know where the dog is; it must have run off."

Turning off the flashlight, he slipped it into a loop on his belt then pulled out a notebook. He wrote down Stephen's name, asked for his address and also noted the car's license plate.

"Your name, miss?"

"Della Street." She gave him her address without making him ask for it.

Eyeing the girl, Donovan reached into his pocket and took out his handkerchief. He held it out saying, "You're still bleeding."

"Oh, um, thank you, but I have my own." Opening her purse, she scrabbled through the contents, uncomfortably aware of both men watching her. She found the square of cloth, shook it out and pressed a corner to the wound on her forehead. It hurt more that it had the first time she touched it, but she didn't really want to be standing around with blood on her face.

"Did you get that nose in the... accident?" Donovan's question was deliberately abrupt.

Caught off guard, Stephen's fingers hovered over the bridge of his nose but didn't touch it. "Yes, uh, I was thrown forward by the impact and hit the steering wheel."

The patrolman's raised eyebrow conveyed his skepticism of the story. A lot of things about this situation didn't read right.

"Wait here," he instructed the pair.

Taking out his flashlight once more, he directed the beam through the car but there was no sign of blood except for a small smear on the window of the passenger door. He walked around to look at the front end of the car where it rested against the telephone pole. The fender was crumpled a bit, but he had expected worse. He returned to the sidewalk.

"If you'll park your car properly, Mr. Raines, I'll take you both to the hospital."

"That won't be necessary, officer. I can see Miss Street home -" he broke off as Della moaned and swayed slightly.

With the handkerchief concealing her face from Stephen, the look she gave the patrolman was unmistakable.

Donovan nodded his understanding of her silent request not to be left with Stephen. "Well, since the lady's the one doing all the active bleeding, why don't we hear from her?"

"I believe I should go to the hospital." Della thought her high school drama teacher would be pleased by the way she embellished her response with a soft quaver in her voice.

"You heard the lady; park your car, please, Mr. Raines." Donovan's own tone left no room for argument.

Stephen stomped back to his car, moved it parallel to the curb, got out and stomped to the passenger side of the prowl car where he climbed into the front seat. His impersonation of a petulant child was embellished with door slams, tire screeches and glowering looks.

Ignoring the man's antics, Donovan took Della's elbow and guided her to the driver's side of the patrol car where he opened the back door. "Why don't you sit behind me, Miss Street?"

She offered her silent thanks as she slid into the seat.

**~P&D~**

Officer Donovan pulled his prowl car into the ambulance bay. Shutting off the engine, he got out and opened the rear door for his passenger. He gave her a sympathetic smile as he helped her out while Raines sulked on ahead without them.

The emergency room was unusually quiet, even for a Tuesday, but Dr. Adam Milburn was still half a pot of coffee behind. His hope of catching up on his caffeine ration went out the door when he saw the trio come through it. Mark Donovan was a familiar face, but the folks he usually escorted tended to be shot, knifed, beaten or at the very least considerably more inebriated than these two appeared.

"Evening, Mark. What do we have here?"

"Hi, Doc. This is Miss Della Street and Mr. Stephen Raines. They had a little traffic accident; the lady needs to be seen first." He glared at Raines, silencing the other man's weak protest. "She hit her head, and she's still bleeding."

"Let's take a look at her then," the doctor agreed. He noted Mark was taking the lady's side in whatever was going on. The officer was too level headed to be taken in by a pretty face, even one as pretty as this, so he had to have a good reason for his partiality. "Nurse Barrett, you can put the gentleman in Exam 4. Come with me, young lady."

Officer Donovan watched Milburn guide the girl away then hurried to catch up with Raines as he followed the nurse into a room down the hall.

"Have a seat," Nurse Barrett instructed, pulling some forms from a drawer. "The doctor will be a while, but we can get your chart started in the mean time."

Choosing a chair rather than the exam table, Stephen slouched down with an aggrieved air.

"Could you wait on that for a minute?" Donovan asked. "I'd like to go over the incident again with Mr. Raines."

The nurse shrugged her consent, but Stephen wasn't so agreeable.

"I don't see the point, officer. I swerved to miss a dog. I lost control of the car. The dog ran away. Those facts aren't going to change."

Donovan didn't believe those were the facts, but he did believe the man's story wouldn't change. Raines was consistent if not convincing.

**~P&D~**

Escorting Della to a room marked Exam 1, Dr. Milburn helped her up onto the exam table.

"Now, why don't you tell me what happened?" It was as much a medical test of her short term memory as a quest for information. He used a penlight to check her pupils.

"Mr. Raines yelled 'hang on', I didn't, the car the hit pole, my arm hit the door and my head hit the window," she itemized, blinking against the dancing spots left by the assessment. The small light didn't carry with it the shooting pain that the prowl car's headlights had but it still didn't do her head much good.

Dr. Milburn chuckled. _'The girl can't be hurt too badly if she's making jokes.'_

"How are you feeling?"

"I was a little nauseous right after it happened, but that's gone now. I've got a slight headache and my arm hurts."

"Okay, we'll start with that cut on your head." Della removed the handkerchief and Milburn used a gentle hand to lift her hair out of the way. "Hmm, not too bad... going to need a couple of stitches though. Don't worry, my dear, I'll use small, fine sutures so there will only be a minimal scar. Let me see that arm." He saw her make a face as she pulled off her glove. Carefully, the doctor manipulated her wrist, taking note of the small scrapes on her knuckles that corresponded with the blood he had seen on the top of her glove.

"I don't think you've got anything more than a sprain, but we'll get an X-ray of your arm to be sure and one of your head as well. Is it possible you're pregnant?"

"No."

"Are you certain? There's no need to be embarrassed," he assured her, "I understand how this sort of thing can happen."

She appreciated his straight forward approach. Della wasn't a stiff-necked prude or a tremulous virgin but it felt good to be able to face the doctor and reply, "So do I. I know where babies come from, doctor, and I know how they get there. I'm not pregnant."

"Good. Nurse Gates, if you'll clean up that wound a bit, we'll see about those stitches. After that I want to get X-rays of your head and arm."

The doctor made quick work of putting three tiny stitches above the outside of her right eye about a half inch from her hairline. Local anesthetic numbed the pain, but lying under the sterile cloth and feeling the tug of the sutures brought back the nausea. When it was over, Della was surprised to find she was clutching the nurse's hand.

"Sorry," she said as she sat up, "having my face covered bothered me for some reason. I'm not usually claustrophobic."

The nurse patted her shoulder. "It happens a lot. Let's go get your picture taken."

**~P&D~**

Dr. Milburn ignored the stony silence that filled Exam 4.

"You'll have to step outside, Mark," he said, reading over the chart Nurse Barrett had started. "I need to examine the patient."

"When can I talk to Miss Street, Doc?" Donovan asked, watching Raines for a reaction. Stephen kept his gaze focused on the floor.

"What? Oh, in a little while. She's gone up to Radiology."

"I'll go get some coffee then." Signaling the doctor an invitation to join him when he got the chance, Donovan left.

Stephen started to rise, intending to sit on the exam table but Dr. Milburn waved him back into the chair. The lower seat gave him a better angle on the injury.

"So, Mr. Raines, a car accident, was it? You were driving?"

"Yes." Stephen let the one word answer both questions.

Lightly grasping Stephen's chin, Dr. Milburn tilted the man's face this way and that.

"How did you hurt your nose?"

"As I keep saying, I was thrown forward and hit the steering wheel."

"You're, what, six feet tall?"

"Six-one, actually," Stephen corrected.

"Hmm." The doctor reached for the afflicted area. "This is going to hurt a bit." His Hippocratic Oath kept him from inflicting deliberate pain, but he didn't regret the unavoidable pain quite as much as he had with Miss Street. "Yep, it's broken. Nurse Barrett, you can take the gentleman to get his nose X-rayed now and we'll find out just how badly."

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Dr. Milburn entered the lounge, fully expecting to see Mark Donovan waiting for him. The already poured cup of coffee was a pleasant surprise, though.

"Well, Mark, what's your take on all this?"

"That's what I was going to ask you, Doc. Do the injuries fit the story?"

"Some of them do."

"The lady's?"

The doctor nodded as he sipped his coffee, eagerly anticipating the caffeine jolt to come. "The head wound clearly came from the accident. The bruising on her wrist and arm, neither of which appears to be broken, matches her story of catching it between her body and the car door. There are a couple of minor scrapes on her knuckles that are... atypical."

"Atypical how?"

"She was wearing gloves. There's no way she got those scrapes in the accident."

"Any guesses on how she might have gotten them?

"Take the scrapes and subtract the accident? I would say she hit something before she put her gloves on."

"Or someone?" Donovan asked but the doctor only shrugged noncommittally. "So that brings us to Mr. Raines."

"A broken nose with substantial bruising but no blood? Definitely not part of the accident. If Miss Street hit something and that something was Mr. Raines' nose... well, I'll have to check the X-ray but it appears to be a nice clean break."

Donovan studied his coffee as he tried to piece the puzzle together. "Did you see any other injuries on her? Anything that would have given her a reason to hit him?"

"No, and she didn't complain of pain anywhere other than her head and arm. This is not a girl afraid of an abusive boyfriend. If some sort of situation escalated, I'd say he was one very surprised young man when she didn't cower."

Nurse Gates appeared in the doorway, tucking a lock of red hair behind her ear. "Doctor, Miss Street's X-rays are ready."

**~P&D~**

Dr. Milburn turned from the light board. "You've got a hard head, young lady."

"That's what my mother says," Della smiled back at him.

"Well, this time it's a good thing. You have a very mild concussion, but I don't foresee any problems. I'll give you something a bit stronger for tonight so you can get some rest, and aspirin should be enough tomorrow. You come straight back here," he shook a warning finger at her, "if the headache lasts beyond that or if you experience any blurred vision. Oh, and no alcohol for a few days."

"I can handle that." She wasn't much of a drinker anyway and didn't even keep liquor in her apartment on a regular basis.

"Good girl. You've also got a mild sprain in your wrist." He picked up a bandage and began wrapping her arm. "No heavy lifting for two weeks."

"What constitutes 'heavy lifting'?" Della asked, thinking of some of the files she had to wrangle.

"A bag of groceries, small pets, neighborhood children, that sort of thing. Don't worry, it will let you know if you forget." He checked his work then patted her hand to indicate he was finished.

She slid off the exam table. "Where do I pay for your services so charmingly rendered?"

The girl continued to impress him. There had been no melodrama, no histrionics... she didn't even seem to be aware that she was the victim in all this. It wasn't fair that she should have to pay money for what had been done to her. "I believe Mr. Raines will be taking care of that."

"He will?" Della blinked in surprise.

"Don't you think he should?"

She almost missed his conspiratorial wink. So there was to be more coercion than chivalry in the financial department. Well, that was fine with her. Stephen had offered to pay her bills, this would be his one and only chance to do so. "Now that you mention it, yes I do. Thank you, Dr. Milburn."

He walked with her back to the waiting area where Officer Donovan leaned against the nurses' station. "Come back in a week and get those stitches out."

"I will, and thank you again."

Dr. Milburn turned and headed for Exam 4 to read Stephen's X-rays.

"If you're feeling up to it, Miss Street," Donovan said, "I'd like to ask you a few questions."

Pasting on a weak smile that wasn't an act, she said, "Of course, officer."

"How long have you known Mr. Raines?"

"About six months," she said simply.

"Where were the two of you going?"

"He was taking me home."

"From where?"

"From his apartment; he had made dinner for us."

As soon as the words were out of her mouth the voice of Mr. Washington, the senior partner emeritus at the law firm she worked for back home whispered in her head. _'Answer only the question you are asked. Never volunteer information.'_ One of her duties as an intern had been to keep the spry old man - retired but still coming into the office three days a week - out of everybody else's hair. He had nurtured her interest in law and saw to it that the firm did as well. Now he was helping her again.

"Did something happen?"

"No, dinner was quite pleasant."

The policeman caught a flicker of uneasiness in her eyes. "What about after dinner?"

"We were in a car accident." The thread of pain that underscored her words kept them from sounding flip.

Donovan noticed that her timeline skipped from the meal directly to the accident. "Okay, can you tell me how the accident happened?"

"Mr. Raines said a dog ran into the road."

"I know his version, now I'm asking for yours," he prodded gently. "Was there a dog?"

"I honestly don't know. I was looking out the passenger window. I just heard him yell 'hang on' then I was bouncing off the door." Della didn't believe there had been any dog but couldn't see the point in saying so. "Sorry I can't be of more help, Officer Donovan. Do you need anything else from me?"

Accepting her termination of the interview, Donovan replied, "No, Miss Street, I think everything's covered, unless there's something else you want to tell me about the accident... or anything else?

"No, nothing."

"Thank you for your cooperation."

"Thank you for being there." Her grateful smile was genuine but so was the soft, tired sigh that followed it. "I wonder how long it will take to get a cab here at this time of night."

"You don't want to wait for Mr. Raines?"

"I don't think Mr. Raines will mind if I don't wait for him - and not getting a cab is part of why I'm here in the first place."

That was the sort of information he had been fishing for, and Donovan waited for her to elaborate. When she didn't, he smothered his own sigh, pulled out his notebook and flipped through the pages. "You don't live far from here. I can drive you home and be back before the doctor is finished with Mr. Raines."

Della knew what kind of stir that could cause. "That's very kind, but I'd rather not have my neighbors see me getting out of a police car."

"I understand." He turned to a fresh sheet in his notebook, scribbled something, tore out the page and handed it to Della. "Call this cab company. Abe's the night dispatcher. Use my name; they'll get a cab out here quick."

"Thank you, Officer."

**~P&D~**

Stephen waited with ill-concealed impatience while the doctor double checked the X-rays and just managed to keep silent when some manipulation of the damaged area was required to ensure proper healing.

"You'll want to put ice on that nose when you get home. There's not much you can do about the bruising but it will help with the swelling."

"Thank you," Stephen said brusquely, adjusting his tie.

"You can settle your bill and Miss Street's at the desk."

"Miss Street's bill?"

"Well, she was injured in your car due to your actions while you were driving," the doctor made a note on the chart then looked over his glasses at his patient, "it's only right that you pay her bill, don't you think?"

Stephen wisely kept to himself his opinion that Della's actions back at the apartment were equal to his in the evening's debacle. "Well, I... that is... Of course, you're quite right, doctor." He stood and straightened his jacket. "I should go do that now so I can see Miss Street home."

Dr. Milburn walked out with him. "There's no rush. Officer Donovan put her in a cab about ten minutes ago."

**~P&D~**

Stephen felt Donovan watching him as he paid both bills.

"Do you feel well enough to drive?" Donovan asked. "I can take you back to your car." The offer was perfunctory and made no attempt at appearing to be anything else.

"No, I don't think so. I'll get a cab and pick up my car tomorrow."

"That's not a bad idea. Miss Street couldn't corroborate your story..." he let suspicion hang in the air for a moment then continued, "but she didn't dispute it, either. I'd advise you to be more careful in the future."

"Thank you, officer, I will do that."

Donovan went out to his prowl car, leaving Raines to fend for himself in getting a cab.

**~P&D~**

Exhaustion set in as Della rode silently in the back of the cab.

Jake Berman didn't normally mind chatting with his passengers, but calls for cabs to hospitals at this time of night tended to lead to quiet rides. People leaving the hospital often had their minds on somebody they had left behind, some sick, some injured, some dead.

He kept an eye on her in his rearview mirror. This girl looked more tired than anything else, although he had seen the bandage around her hand and wrist. Tears were a possibility but he heard not so much as a sniffle from her.

When the cab pulled up outside her apartment building, she had the fare ready, including a generous tip.

"Here, miss," he handed her a card with the cab company's name and number. "Abe said to call anytime."

"I will. Thank him for me please, and thank you, Mister -?"

"Berman, miss, Jake Berman."

"Thank you, Mr. Berman. Good night."

"Good night, miss."

Jake never dropped off a night fare, man or woman, without seeing that they got inside safely, but he made a special point to watch this girl. He could almost feel the pain when she absentmindedly put her injured hand on the railing only to pull it back, cradling it in her other hand for a long moment. At last, she climbed the steps and entered the building. He had heard the word 'trudged' but had never seen anyone do it until now. She was inside and he couldn't do any more than that.

Pulling away from the curb, Jake radioed in his availability then headed for the theater district. He should make it there before most of the shows let out.

**~P&D~**

Della dropped her purse, gloves and keys on the end of the sofa and briefly considered dropping herself there as well. She knew better than to do it because she wouldn't want to get up again. The clock on the small desk read five to eleven. Her body felt as though it should be later... much, much later. Best to keep moving.

Her first stop was the kitchen. She filled two ice packs, one for her head and one for her arm. Taking a checked dish towel from a drawer, Della couldn't help but think about the pack she had prepared for Stephen, and she felt a small bit of self-righteous satisfaction when she remembered the bloody mess he had waiting in the sink when he got home.

Leaving the kitchen, she went into the bedroom, going to the closet to choose a suit for tomorrow, something proper for an interview but wouldn't stand out at the office. She had intended to do it when she got home from work, but Stephen's call - and the subsequent events - had derailed the plan. After some deliberation, she decided on a dove gray one that she could pair with a silver blouse.

She took off the suit jacket she was wearing and scanned it for blood stains. Relieved to find none, she set it aside to go to the cleaners anyway. She removed her blouse and inspected it next. Again, no blood, but that was when she noticed the bruises on her left arm where Stephen had grabbed her.

_'Thank goodness for long sleeves. 'I wouldn't have wanted to explain those to Dr. Milburn or Officer Donovan.'_ she thought. _'So the only casualties were a handkerchief and a glove... oh, and my head, my arm and Stephen's nose.'_

And the suit she had picked out for tomorrow, Della realized with more than a little chagrin. The navy one only had three-quarter sleeves which would reveal the bruises as well as making the bandage on her right wrist more obvious. She went back to the closet and took out what had been her second choice, a deep plum colored one with long sleeves. It was more fitted and feminine than she wanted but hopefully the somber color tempered some of that.

Della finished changing into her nightgown with a sigh, and unable to avoid it any longer, went into the bathroom to get her first good look at the cut on her forehead. She stood in front of the mirror and cautiously peeled back the bandage, wincing when the tape pulled at her skin. The stitches were small as Dr. Milburn had promised. There wasn't much swelling and the bruising appeared minimal. The ice pack would help with that. She would reassess it in the morning, but for now it looked as though the right makeup and hair style should keep it hidden.

She went back into the bedroom, more than ready to crawl between the sheets. One ice pack went into the dish towel which was wrapped around her wrist, held in place by a couple of large safety pins from the jar on her dresser. She settled under the covers and put the other ice pack on her head. All she wanted now was to go to sleep and put this whole horrible night out of her mind.

TBC


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

Wednesday

Della straightened her suit jacket as she crossed the lobby of the Brent Building. She hadn't been this nervous since... well, since her last job interview.

_'You got that job,'_ she told herself, _'and now you have three years' more experience.'_

Her internal pep talk faltered when her other half had to point out, _'Except that most of your experience is in a secretarial pool at a mid-sized law firm and this is for a one man office.'_

Oh, she knew he had a small staff of typists and the on call services of a private detective agency but the majority of her time would be spent with the man himself.

The man who tested judges' patience and pulled confessions out of people the way a magician pulled rabbits out of a hat. Mason appeared very tough in court, questioning witnesses and sparring with the district attorney, but then she had seen him soften as he reassured his client at the recess.

After pushing the call button, she used the reflective surface of the elevator door to double check her appearance, gingerly patting her hair to make sure the small bandage was still concealed. There wasn't anything she could do about the wrap around her sprained right wrist. The stiffness she had awakened to this morning, in what felt like every muscle in her body, was mostly gone thanks to the two aspirin she had taken then and she had taken another two just before leaving the office.

"Nine, please," she told the elevator operator as she stepped into the small space.

Less than a minute later, she was standing in front of the door reading 'Perry Mason Attorney at Law'. The deep breath she took did nothing to settle her nerves, but she reached for the doorknob anyway.

The reception room was empty. A door to the left was open into the next office where another door opened into the larger office beyond. She caught a glimpse of Mr. Mason at his desk and looked away, feigning interest in the wall art.

Mason had left the doors open because his receptionist was still at lunch, and he had an interview at one o'clock. He watched as the new arrival tried to ignore the fact that he was there.

She was attractive - very attractive, actually - and while she was a few years younger than the other applicants he had interviewed this week, she had an air of poise that even the more experienced candidates had been missing. Maybe it was the single strand of pearls that draped just below the base of her throat; many girls these days viewed them as old-fashioned, their mothers' jewelry. This girl knew the pearls gave her a classic sophistication without slipping into matronly.

She removed her gloves, an action that appeared painful for a reason he didn't understand until he saw the bandage on her right hand.

Not his interview then. He was vaguely disappointed although he couldn't say why.

_'I wonder who she wants to sue,'_ Mason thought as he went out to greet her. A large number of the clients he took on first showed up without an appointment. The fleeting sense of having seen her before passed so quickly that he almost didn't catch it.

At least she knew how to wear perfume, just enough to be noticed only when he stood right in front of her. His third interviewee had worn so much that it had taken most of the afternoon with the balcony doors open to clear out the noxious cloud.

"May I help you?"

He wore a dark suit, well-cut, but not frivolously expensive. She had noticed that the other day, guessing the wardrobe choice went a long way to projecting an imposing image in court. Seeing him face to face again, she didn't doubt he was well aware that his dark suits made his blue eyes all the more piercing.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Mason, I'm Della Street. I have a one o'clock appointment. I know I'm a bit early so if you need a few minutes..." She was smooth and calm, not the usual behavior of someone with a grievance that required an attorney to resolve.

He stifled a curse. His receptionist evidently had double booked the time and now he had to deal with this girl before his interview arrived. For all of Carol's flirting, she had been an excellent secretary who managed the office and his schedule without this sort of mix-up.

"I'm afraid you've wasted your time, Miss Street. I don't handle personal injury cases."

The odd declaration confused her - until she saw him looking at the bandage on her hand. "This? This is mostly my own fault and not in the least worth suing over. Besides, I'm more interested in working for a criminal attorney than hiring one."

"Working for a -" he broke off as processed her words. "You're here about the job?"

"Yes, as I said, I have a one o'clock appointment." He had been impressive in court, but he seemed rather scattered in his own office. Della hoped that was due to being short handed.

"I apologize, Miss Street. I thought an error had been made in the appointments since the name I have down is Delia Strait."

_'A name taken by the receptionist who left the front office empty knowing there was an appointment scheduled? And his first thought was that she had double booked an appointment? That should be fun to work with.'_

He could see the shrewd mind behind the intelligent brown eyes and wasn't sure he wanted to know whether Miss Street was silently chastising the absent receptionist for her actions or him for keeping her on. Mason made a mental note to talk with Miss Gentry this afternoon. "Please come into my office."

As she preceded him through what was clearly the secretary's office, she noticed files stacked on the desk and across the top of the row of file cabinets that lined the back wall. The small conference table in his office held more files, several law books, a scattering of paper coffee cups and an overflowing ashtray.

_'Did Carol Fremont let him work this way or does he insist on it?" _It was difficult to believe either scenario._ 'Carol's last day was just Friday; surely he couldn't have let it get this bad in so short a time... could he?'_ He didn't apologize for the mess, but being a man, it was possible he didn't even notice it.

His desk was neater with only a few files and papers, no law books but its own brimming ashtray.

She unzipped her portfolio, pulled out two file folders and passed one across the desk to him.

He glanced over her resume and the letters of recommendation from her business school professors and counselor along with the letters from her old firm back home. They were impressive but rather out of date.

"Tell me about what you're doing now."

"I've been at Murphy and Young for three years in the secretarial pool working for whichever associate or junior partner needed extra help. Five months ago, I was assigned permanently to Martin Hays who specializes in wills and estates."

The detachment in her voice told him more than her words. "Not what you were looking for?"

"The frequent trips to the courthouse got me out of the office and running interference between warring family members makes for a certain amount of drama but on the whole, no, it's not what I was looking for." It was easier to let him believe it was the work that didn't interest her - which was true enough - rather than reveal the fact that Mr. Hays was a lecherous man with a jealous wife. While she had known when she was given the assignment that she wouldn't like the work or the man, she hadn't been in a position to refuse. A girl in the secretarial pool didn't have the luxury of picking and choosing; rejecting one permanent placement all but eliminated the chance of there ever being another one.

"Do you have any experience with criminal law?" The leather chair creaked softly as he settled back.

Della unconsciously mimicked his attitude as she relaxed into her own seat. "I've assisted on a few cases, mostly running background checks on witnesses. I've also done some organization of evidence and sat in on depositions when they wanted to intimidate with numbers. It's fascinating, but I never went to court, of course, so I didn't get to see any of them through to the end except in the newspapers. That's a drawback to working in a secretarial pool, you see a lot of different pieces, but rarely how they all fit together or come out. I always felt as though I was leaving things unfinished."

He asked her a few questions about background checks, and she briefly outlined her basic procedure. "Since I couldn't bring anything from the firm, I thought this was the best way to show what I can do," she said handing him the second file folder.

A raised eyebrow was his only reaction when he saw his own name on the tab.

Opening the file he found two pages, well organized, highly detailed. Place and date of birth; education from elementary school through law school; military service; the date he took the bar exam and his score; his tenure with a large firm, with a list of major cases along with their outcomes; the date he left to open his own practice; his financial status including charitable donations.

"You have some excellent contacts, Miss Street. Would you care to tell me how you got some of this information?"

"Is any of it incorrect?" she asked.

"No, it's all quite accurate." He noted the evasive non-answer in her question. "How long have you been working on this?"

"I started Monday after I set up the appointment. I didn't want to put the time in if I wasn't going to get an interview. You can keep the file; it's the only copy."

"You called on Monday? Did you see the ad in the paper?"

"Yes."

"Are you a regular scout of the employment ads?"

If he had kept the supposition to himself, she might have let the misconception stand. Lying in the face of a direct question, however, was unthinkable. "No, I was looking for your ad in particular. I actually heard last week that your secretary had given her notice."

"Do you always listen to gossip, Miss Street?"

"I think you'll find, Mr. Mason, that nearly everybody listens to gossip to some extent. The trick is knowing when to take it a face value and when to get outside corroboration."

"Such as making sure there was an ad in the paper?"

"Actually, that was merely a formality." She caught the barest flicker of surprise in his eyes. "In this case, while the source was impeccable, simply hearing that you were about to have an opening wasn't enough to make me decide to apply. I watched you in court one afternoon and then spent Saturday at the main library going through newspaper files researching some of your cases."

"What did you learn?"

"You believe everyone has the right to representation, but you prefer to keep innocent people from being railroaded than getting guilty people off on technicalities. You'll work out a plea bargain when there are extenuating circumstances and your client is truly remorseful. You choose your clients based on their need rather than their ability to pay your fee."

He considered her evaluation then asked, "What about all of that makes you want to work for me?"

"I want to work for someone who believes justice is for everyone, and who fights when the system tries to take the easy way out. I get the feeling that among the clients who can't afford your fee there are ones you turned down because they thought your integrity could be bought with enough money. You have..." she broke off, realizing she was getting rather more impassioned than a job interview called for. Verbalizing her opinion had made her realize just how much she wanted this job.

"I have what?" he prompted.

"You have a reputation for the..." Della paused, chewing her lip as she weighed her words then decided she couldn't ruin her chances any more by answering honestly, "unorthodox."

"And you equate unorthodox with exciting?"

"Perhaps not exciting, per se, but unorthodox isn't boring. I've done boring and I don't like it." She cocked her head, an impish glint in her eye. "Besides, shouldn't one 'pray that the way be long, full of adventures and experiences'?"

"Do you frequently quote Cavafy, Miss Street?" Mason asked. Greek poetry wasn't part of the usual high school or business school curriculum, yet here was this girl casually dropping it into conversation.

Della smothered a sigh of disappointment at the realization that he was just another powerful man whose ego didn't allow for him to be shown up by a mere secretary. "Not on a regular basis, but he did seem the most appropriate to the occasion."

"Most appropriate, hmm? You have others, I take it. A quote for every situation perhaps?"

"Almost. It comes from being raised by parents who were and still are voracious readers." Her eyes shone with affection she made no effort to conceal as she continued, "They passed their love of literature to me."

"Which of them has a particular fondness for O. Henry?" Her expression shifted to carefully blank. "You were named for the girl in 'The Gift of the Magi', weren't you?" he asked, doubt creeping into the certainty of his conclusion.

"He's my dad's favorite, but most people don't make the connection."

"Really? It is quite a well known story."

She gave him a concessionary nod. "Well known for the bare bones of the story: a husband and wife, hair and a watch chain but not that the characters are named Della and Jim. I've never cared much for the story myself."

"Why not?"

"Because, while that Della's sacrifice was noble, it wasn't permanent. She would be able to use the combs in a few months when her hair grew back but Jim's watch - his father's watch - was gone forever."

"An interesting perspective on the story; I hadn't ever considered it that way. Still, you ended up with a good name. Not many Dellas in the world."

"Says the man named 'Perry'." Her smile returned as she added, "Although, on the whim of a coin toss there could have been one less 'Della'."

"A coin toss? What was the possible alternative?"

"My mother's choice was another literary character known to cut her hair for money, Jo March."

"From 'Little Women'."

"Don't tell me you've read it?" she asked, her skepticism clear. Girls always had to read 'Huckleberry Finn' and 'Moby Dick' but boys never had to read 'Little Women' or 'Anne of Green Gables'.

"No," he said, unwittingly confirming her suspicion, "but I've seen every movie Katharine Hepburn has made, so yes, I know 'Little Women'. We've gone a bit astray. What were we talking about?"

"You're unorthodox and I don't like boring." She saw his lips twitch at her bare bones summation. "Somehow, I don't see you liking boring either."

"Regardless of what you might have heard, I'm not always rushing from one escapade to the next." His easy going demeanor faded as he continued. "This job comes with long hours and hard work. I do it myself and I expect the people I employ to do the same. For every time you're with me to meet a client in the middle of the night there will be a time when you're stuck here in the office waiting. There will be occasions when I won't have time to explain things. You'll have to trust my judgment and act accordingly. Can you do that?" He waited for her answer, instinctively knowing this could be the key question to the interview.

She didn't reply in an impetuous rush but she didn't think too long about it either. "Yes, Mr. Mason, I believe I can."

He continued to delve into her qualifications and personal philosophy. Della was challenged by the questions he asked; Mason was intrigued with her answers.

Eventually, Della had a query of her own. "Would it offend you if I asked questions about cases and strategies?"

"Why?"

"The more I know about the way you work, the better I can anticipate your requests in similar circumstances. The more I understand about a case, the easier it is to provide the information you need."

"I realize I wasn't clear. I was asking why you thought I would be offended."

Taken aback, Della paused before answering truthfully, "Well, because the majority of attorneys would be."

"Have you considered attending law school?"

Della shook her head with a smile. "As much as law interests me, I don't have the personality for court. I can cajole information out of people when they think it's a friendly chat, but I wouldn't be any good at cross-examining people in court."

"Don't sell yourself short. Cajoling can be a useful tactic in court as well."

"Mr. Mason, I can do the waltz, mambo and foxtrot, but I'm not even close to being Ginger Rogers. I know my strengths and my limitations. I'm not a lawyer, but I am a very good legal secretary. Besides," she raised a teasing eyebrow at him, "if you steer all potential secretaries to law school, who's going to work for you?"

"Point taken," he conceded. "You said the injury to your hand was mostly your own fault... how much of it was someone else's?"

The abrupt change of subject was bewildering and she took a breath before answering.

"It was a minor car accident last night," she said, squelching the impulse to check the bandage hidden under her hair. "It happened so fast I didn't have time to hang on to anything. I got jostled around more than anything else."

"Was the driver drunk?"

Della felt her cheeks flush in embarrassment. "Mr. Mason, I take full responsibility for being foolish enough to get in a car with someone I don't like very much anymore - a feeling which began well before the accident - but I assure you I'm not stupid enough to get in a car with a drunk, no matter how I feel about them."

"Even smart people have been known to get into cars with drunks in an effort to keep them from driving," Mason countered.

"Then they aren't smart enough to know that the only way to keep a drunk from driving is not let them get behind the wheel in the first place," she replied with a hint of defiance.

"On that we agree."

"Well, you should also know that I'm trying to cut back on the foolish part, too," she found herself confiding somewhat self-consciously.

"Glad to hear it. When can you start?"

"What?" It was the first conversational jump she didn't follow.

He smiled. "I was under the impression you wanted the job, Miss Street."

"I do, Mr. Mason." She figured if the man could make a decision about hiring her that fast, the least she could do was accept.

He wrote a number on a slip of paper and handed it to her. "That's weekly," he confirmed when her eyes widened. "As I said before, I don't keep normal office hours. My secretary doesn't just come in at nine and leave at five so I pay accordingly."

"Yes, you do," she agreed, "I guess I'll be getting a car a couple of months sooner now." She had been living on her old salary for the past five months and saving every penny of her raise, but this was going to advance the cause at a quicker pace.

"You don't own a car?"

She was still staring at what looked more like a phone number than a salary so her reply was bit distracted. "No, but I've already checked and there's a bus route between here and my apartment with no transfers. It runs until one a.m."

The attorney's brow furrowed in concern. "The bus is fine in the morning, but I don't like the idea of you riding it late at night."

"I can take care of myself, Mr. Mason." Della decided against submitting her injured wrist as evidence to prove it.

"I'm certain you can, but I think it would be best if you took a cab home at night."

"If I take a cab home every night, I'll be getting a car later rather than sooner."

"You won't be paying for the cabs, I will," he stated firmly.

The scene with Stephen flashed through Della's mind and determination flashed in her eyes. "Taking care of myself includes paying my own expenses. Perhaps this isn't a good situation for either of us."

Mason thought quickly, trying to find the argument that would change her mind. "I meant no offense, Miss Street, or to imply anything improper. My last secretary had a car so it never occurred to me that you might not. May I suggest a compromise - until you get a car, that is?"

"What kind of compromise?" Wariness colored her words.

"If you leave here any later than eight o'clock, you take a cab and pay for it out of petty cash. That makes it strictly a business expense."

Della searched his face for any kind of subterfuge but what she found made her understand why so many people trusted him with their lives.

"Make it nine o'clock and you've got a deal, Mr. Mason." At his agreeing nod, she continued, "I'm sorry if I sounded like a prig -"

"No apology necessary. When can you start?"

"Depends on what happens when I get back to the office." Martin Hays wasn't going to take the news well. She estimated it would take less than a minute for him to start yelling.

"You'll give two weeks' notice." It was a statement he was certain she wouldn't contradict. He already knew enough about her to expect she would follow standard business protocol to the letter. "I'll see you in two weeks at the latest. If they put up a fuss, I'll see you tomorrow."

She couldn't believe this was actually happening. "You aren't going to check my references?"

"I prefer my own opinions." Mason lifted the folder she had given him. "And you provided considerable evidence on your own. This is good work. It contains some things I'd forgotten. When I show it to Paul Drake, he'll try to steal you out from under my nose."

That put her a bit more at ease. "He needn't bother. I don't want to work for a private detective any more than I want to work for an estate planner."

"I'll tell him but he'll probably try anyway. He's a good friend, and as you're aware, I employ his agency exclusively. You should know, he frequently uses my private door. During the day, he'll knock in case I'm with a client. At night, he'll just come in."

As if on cue, there was a knock at the door.

Della rose gracefully to her feet with a playful smile. "Let's see how well your favorite detective handles the unexpected." She opened the door, and even from the back, Perry could see the discomfort caused by using her injured hand.

"Perry, you -" Startled, his gaze dropped from where he expected to see a serious lawyer down to an unfamiliar face with teasing brown eyes. "You are not Perry."

"My, you are a good detective," she said struggling to keep a straight face. "Good afternoon, Mr. Drake."

"You have me at a disadvantage, Miss...?"

"Street, and I'm sure that doesn't happen often." She knew his type - smooth and charming, but he looked like he could take no for an answer without letting it dent his ego.

Drake looked to his friend for an explanation.

"Paul Drake, this is Della Street, my new secretary."

The ringing phone interrupted the introduction. By the third ring, they began to realize the receptionist had never returned.

"I believe my next task will be to hire a new receptionist," Mason said. He reached for the phone, but Della smoothly beat him to it.

"Perry Mason's office." She listened then reached for the schedule she had seen laying on the desk. "No, I'm sorry, Mr. Mason is in court all day tomorrow." She pointed to the name Hopson next to 4:00 on Friday afternoon and pantomimed moving it up to 10:30 in the morning. Perry nodded. "Would 10:30 on Friday morning do? Thank you, Mr. Hopson." Hanging up, she asked, "Do you have a service you can turn the phones over to for the rest of the day?"

"Yes," he replied, not sure where she was leading.

Della picked up the receiver again and dialed. "Adele Cooper, please. This is Della Street." She waited while the call was transferred, trying not to fidget under the curious gaze of the two men. "Hi, Adele, I need a receptionist at Perry Mason's office in the Brent Building tomorrow morning." She listened for a moment. "It's only been official for a few minutes, but yes, I will be working for Mr. Mason. Adele, Gertie Lade wouldn't happen to be available, would she? Really?" Another pause. "Well, let's see how things go but that's absolutely an option. Mr. Mason will fill her in since I won't be here. By the way, my new job isn't public knowledge yet so if you could keep it to yourself for a couple of days, I'd appreciate it. Thanks, Adele. Bye." She replaced the receiver and faced her audience with a self-satisfied expression.

"You know Adele Cooper?" He wasn't surprised she was familiar with one of the largest agencies in the city and was beginning to think he shouldn't be surprised that the owner immediately took her calls.

"I know a lot of people." She didn't mention that she had added a police officer, a doctor and a cab dispatcher to her list of contacts in the last twenty-four hours.

"Yes, you do," he agreed, darting a glance at the file she had given him. "Who is Gertie Lade?"

"Miss Cooper will set it up as a temp job to begin with, but if you like her, she's your new receptionist. She's been at Murphy and Young a number of times. I happen to know she's in great demand at several firms. She's very efficient, has a nice, outgoing personality, knows how to get names right and keep the office covered when appointments are scheduled. The better news is that she's tired of temping and wants something permanent."

"Is there anything you can't do, Miss Street?" he asked, clearly impressed.

She kept a straight face but couldn't suppress the mirth in her eyes as she replied, "Well, I've tried and tried, but I just don't understand the infield fly rule."

Mason laughed out loud. "Truth to tell, neither do I. You think fast on your feet, Miss Street. That's going to come in handy in this job."

Della fought back a blush. "I need to get back to work so I can give my notice."

"Let my service know when I can expect you."

"I will. Thank you, Mr. Mason."

He picked up a business card and scribbled a number on the back. "That's my private number; you'll need it later on."

Drake had followed the conversation with interest, but that last part floored him. He knew for a fact that Carol Fremont worked for Perry almost a year before he gave her his private number. Prior to that, she had to go through the service to reach him at home.

Mason walked her to the door then returned, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.

"She's, what, your fifth interview?" Drake asked, lighting a cigarette. "What made you decide so quickly?"

It took several seconds for the attorney to come back from wherever his thoughts had taken him. "What? Oh, well, the truth is, she was the first one who acted as though I was interviewing her for a secretarial job rather than her interviewing me as husband material. She's been at Murphy and Young for three years and they don't keep fools - at least, not as secretaries. Also, she gave me a sample of her research work." He passed the folder to the other man.

Skimming the information, Drake's eyebrows shot to his hairline. He learned a couple of things about the man he thought he knew as well as a brother. "How long did she work on this?"

"She says she didn't start until she had the appointment - two days ago."

"I get first dibs on her if, for some unimaginable reason, she doesn't work out with you."

"I warned her you would try to steal her... and you might be considering what she's digging up on you."

"Me?"

"Now that she has the job, do you really think she won't have a file like that on you by the weekend?"

The lanky detective blanched.

**~P&D~**

The elevator deposited Della back in the lobby and she crossed over to the bank of phone booths she had seen on the way in. Slipping into one, she closed the door, dropped a nickel in and dialed a number from memory.

"Judge Helton's chambers."

"Hi, Elaine, it's Della. Are you free for dinner tonight? I need to talk to you."

"Sure, kid, what's going on?" Spur of the moment plans were usually initiated by Elaine. Whatever Della had on her mind was big.

"There's no way to tell part of the story. My place, 6:30? You don't mind leftover spaghetti, do you?"

"Not when it's yours. Can I bring dessert? Carrot cake?"

Having skipped lunch to make time for the interview, Della almost swooned at the sweet prospect. "Yes, please; see you tonight."

"I'll be there."

TBC

**Author's Note**

"Setting out on the voyage to Ithaca  
you must pray that the way be long,  
full of adventures and experiences."

Ithaca  
Constantine Peter Cavafy

I, myself, do not quote Greek poetry off the top of my head - or any other body part. However, I do frequently scour my raggedy copy of Bartlett's Quotations in desperate searches for titles. One such search didn't help me in the title department but it did net me a half decent conversational plot point so I count it as successful.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: A thousand apologies for my delay in posting today. I had to be at work earlier than usual and totally forgot that I had ****responsibilities of **vital importance elsewhere.

**Chapter 6**

Murphy and Young was an old, established firm. So old and established that it was on its third Murphy and second Young. Their pictures graced one wall of the largest conference room.

The names and photographs of the senior partners who weren't Murphys or Youngs lined the walls of the reception area. Martin Hays was one of these.

His reputation outside the firm was such that he could pick and choose the clients he handled. Junior associates did the bulk of the work for the smaller estates. He focused on the big money and the high profile prestige. His reputation inside the firm was such that the girls were quick to find reasons to be seated at their desks whenever he came near the secretarial pool.

In his early fifties, he had a certain dashing air with the arrogance of wealth and the morals of a con man; he over billed clients when he could get away with it and groped female employees because he could get away with it. He had tried it with Della on her second day with him only to be 'accidentally' stabbed in the leg with the pencil she was carrying. It didn't earn her his respect, but he kept his distance... which, she had decided, was more important.

**~P&D~**

Della looked at her watch. 3:10. If things went the way she hoped, she would be back in plenty of time to greet Mr. Hays' four o'clock appointment.

She carefully maneuvered a file - one that most likely fell within Dr. Milburn's definition of heavy lifting - into the crook of her left arm. On top of that she laid the single page she had typed upon returning to the office.

Her light tap on the door was a mere courtesy as she entered the office.

"I can't talk now," Hays snapped before slamming down the telephone.

Della kept her expression impassive, acknowledging neither his words nor his actions. She suspected the girlfriend whose call she had put through just a couple of minutes before wouldn't be a girlfriend much longer.

"Here's the McGarry file. You wanted to go over it before their appointment at four."

He caught the barest flicker of a wince as she set the bulky accordion file on his desk. Her story of how she had injured her wrist had been plausible enough, but he had his doubts as to its veracity. It was the first time he ever felt she had been less than truthful with him. Hell, the girl wouldn't even lie _for_ him. Still, he grudgingly had to admire the way she could politely deflect unwanted callers until they no longer called.

"Did you have those papers delivered to the Blakes?" he barked, annoyed with himself for getting distracted.

"Yes, sir, the messenger picked them up at eleven, and I took the Spencer documents to the Probate Clerk myself."

"Humpf," Hays grunted. Sometimes the capable Miss Street was too efficient for her own good, even if it did reflect well on him. He preferred basking in reflection based on his instructions not her initiative. "Was there something else?" he asked, seeing the paper in her hand.

Taking a deep breath that only served to agitate the butterflies in her stomach, Della placed the sheet in front of him. "Yes, sir; this is my two weeks' notice. Would you like Personnel to give you a list of candidates for my replacement or let them choose someone?"

"What?"

She continued as though he hadn't spoken. "Either way they should be able to find a replacement no later than Monday so I can begin training her."

"Where do you think you're going?" Martin Hays didn't like surprises that he didn't orchestrate.

Della found herself relaxing as he grew more irate. "I've taken a job at another firm."

"Which one? Nobody's called me for a reference."

"Apparently, Murphy and Young's reputation is reference enough with regards to the caliber of people they employ."

"That's not an answer. Where are you going?" he bellowed.

Della felt her resolve stiffen much as she had in the face of Stephen's ire as she replied calmly, "Mr. Hays, I won't be discussing this firm when I leave, therefore, I feel I owe the same courtesy to my new employer."

"Don't give me that." Hays pounded his fist on the desk. "I won't have you stealing my clients!"

_'Unless one of your clients is accused of killing another beneficiary and needs a lawyer,' _Della thought wryly,_ 'I doubt there's much chance of that.' _ "There's not a single reason why any of your clients would want to leave, Mr. Hays, and certainly not to follow me. Even if I could muster the audacity to contact any of them, I have no doubt they would, quite rightly, react just as you did." She meant it, too. Despite his numerous character flaws, the man was the best in his field.

Hays didn't have a response for that. "I don't care who they send, just get somebody in here."

"I'll go to Personnel right now, sir." She turned and walked out the door, feeling his eyes on her all the way.

**~P&D~**

Burton Jefferies knew what was about to happen when his secretary told him Della Street wanted to see him. It was the same thing that happened every time Martin Hays' secretary came to Personnel because they only came for one reason.

Della had been assigned to Hays five months ago, and the man had been through two secretaries in the year and a half prior to that. It was becoming difficult for Personnel to find any secretary within the firm willing to work for him, even at the risk of never being given any permanent placement in the future. Burton didn't like the way some of the lawyers treated the secretaries but there wasn't much he could do about it except try to change things a little at a time.

He offered her a chair as he asked, "What can I do for you, Miss Street?"

"I gave Mr. Hays my notice, and he's decided to let you chose my replacement."

It wasn't a verbatim recitation of what he had heard five months ago although it came very close. "The firm hates to lose secretaries with your skills and dedication, Miss Street. Is there anything we can do you keep you with us?"

Della understood the position she was putting him in and that part of it she regretted. "Thank you, but no. I've been offered an opportunity I can't afford to pass up."

It was the answer he had expected. There really wasn't anything he could offer to persuade a secretary to stay with Martin Hays. "Well, you know all the unassigned secretaries. Who would be a good choice to replace you?"

She never really believed she would be asked for her opinion, but it hadn't kept her from thinking about it... and having an answer.

"Claudia Allison."

The quick response surprised him. "Why?"

"She's pretty enough for Mr. Hays and..." Della hesitated for a brief second. She was taking a chance being so blunt, but she had already quit and had a job she could step into tomorrow so if they let her go this minute it wouldn't be a hardship. "And she has the nerve to defend herself."

"That's just about what Charlotte Michaels said when she selected you. What else qualifies Miss Allison for the job?"

"I know she doesn't have as much seniority as one or two of the other girls, but she's helped me on a number of occasions, and it's clear that she enjoys the kind of work Mr. Hays does."

That statement puzzled Burton. "Why is that important?"

It wasn't a revelation to Della that he had never considered the situation from the other side. "Lawyers practice the type of law they prefer, why shouldn't secretaries do the same? I don't like estate planning, and I knew I would get bored sooner rather than later. That's why I interviewed with a firm that practices the kind of law that interests me."

"What kind of law is that?"

Della smiled serenely. "About as far from estate planning as you can get."

Burton was beginning to wish he had moved her into Personnel. "Let's get Miss Allison in here and talk to her."

**~P&D~**

That night, the doorbell rang promptly at 6:30.

After a quick hug, Della relieved her friend of the small cake box allowing Elaine to set down her purse and remove her gloves.

"Hi, kid." The scent of spaghetti and garlic bread caught her attention. She took a deep breath and let it go with a sigh. "Mmm, only you can make leftovers smell that good. So what's the big mystery - Della! What did you do to your hand?" Grown up and on their own, she was still the 'older sister' and would always react accordingly. She took Della's injured hand in hers, turning it gently as she examined the bandage.

"That's part of the story," Della said, extricating herself, "but let's get dinner ready before I tell it." She led the way into the kitchen certain she would be followed.

Elaine trailed along behind with no argument. She had learned long ago that there was no way to make Della talk about anything before she was ready.

They worked with the practiced ease of best friends and former roommates. Della kept an eye on the simmering spaghetti as she set the table while Elaine put together the salad.

**~P&D~**

The girls were half way through the meal when Elaine couldn't bear waiting anymore.

"Okay, I've been patient long enough," she chided playfully, "now tell me how you hurt your hand."

"Well, I told everyone at work that I tripped on the steps in front of my building and sprained my wrist when I caught myself." Della didn't like lying but the truth would serve no purpose.

Elaine nodded her understanding. She needed to know the cover story because she still saw people from the firm. "Now you're going to tell me what really happened, right?"

"I used it to break Stephen Raines' nose." A small shiver ran down Della's spine. It felt odd, saying the words out loud, making the surreal more real.

"What! Why?" Beyond the bizarre concept of Della hitting anyone, Elaine was struggling with the fact that it had been Stephen in particular. He wasn't one of her favorite people, but she couldn't imagine him doing anything that deserved physical retaliation.

"He called yesterday and said he had something he wanted to talk about. I didn't want to go, but I couldn't argue about it over the phone. He made dinner at his apartment," she paused until Elaine set down her water glass, "and afterwards he told me he's marrying Alicia Mead but wants to keep seeing me on the side."

"He wants to what?" Elaine exclaimed.

"I declined his 'offer'," Della continued without acknowledging the outburst. "He got mad and grabbed my arm. When he wouldn't let go, I let go and hit him."

Elaine heard the words, but she was having trouble getting them to make sense. "You hit him," she repeated, "hit him so hard that you broke... that's what you did to your hand?"

"Yes. Oh, when you write to Curtis, tell him the right hook he taught us really works... and you should know it really hurts. Anyway, that's the first part of it."

"The _first_ part? Why do I get the feeling this story isn't going to get better?"

Della pushed her plate away and sat back, her appetite gone. "After I put ice on Stephen's nose, I accepted his offer of a ride home."

"Why?" Elaine didn't even try to keep the censure out of her voice.

"Mostly because I didn't think I should have to pay for my own cab." Elaine rolled her eyes, and Della acknowledged the silent admonishment. "Yes, I know it's a bad reason for a bad decision... I just never imagined that Stephen would make an even worse decision during the drive."

Elaine rubbed her forehead dreading the answer she was going to get to the question she had to ask. "What's worse than you deciding to get in a car with him?"

"Well, we didn't discuss it, of course, but I believe Stephen decided the story he would tell Alicia to account for his broken nose involved an accident where he hit a telephone pole and that he thought at least that part of his story should be true."

"He hit a telephone pole... on purpose... with you in the car?" The color drained from Elaine's face, her imagination quickly creating an array of horrific possible outcomes.

"I think he went from idea to implementation without much intermediate thought."

"Make that no thought whatsoever!" Elaine cried as she latched onto the worst case scenario. "Della, he could have killed you!"

"Well, I know he never intended that. Maybe he did it as soon as he had the idea so he wouldn't have time to think about it."

"You're defending that... that... weasel?"

"Not defending, explaining. Anyway, his bad luck wasn't over for the evening. A prowl car showed up immediately after the accident and the officer didn't believe Stephen's story of a dog in the road. He took us to the hospital -"

"For your hand? Did you tell him it happened before accident?"

"I hurt it again in the accident, but we really went to the hospital because I hit my head and I was bleeding." She lifted her hair to reveal the small bandage. "Three stitches."

Elaine's simmering anger boiled over. "If you'll excuse me, I'm going to find Stephen and see if I learned that right hook as well as you did."

Della, taken aback by the intensity of her friend's reaction, interjected quickly to calm her down. "You're wonderful for wanting to avenge me, but I'm fine. Half the people at the office didn't even notice my hand and only you know about the stitches. Stephen is the one walking around with two black eyes and a broken nose he can't hide. I doubt he was any more convincing today than he was last night."

Elaine volunteered to clear the table, leaving the coffee making to Della. They worked quietly and efficiently for a few minutes.

Snapping the lid on the coffee pot, Della stilled, her gaze locked on the counter. "Elaine, why do you think Stephen suggested that sort of arrangement?"

"Because he sees other men getting away with it," Elaine replied disgustedly as she stacked the plates and silverware next to the sink. The washing up would come after dessert.

"But why me?" Della whirled around, unexpected tears filling her eyes as anger, hurt and fear warred within her. Last night had been an unnerving experience; one she hadn't let herself think about much less analyze until now. "What did I do to make him believe I would agree to be treated that way?"

"You didn't do anything, kid. It was all Stephen."

"I must have said or implied something for him to decide 'Della will settle for a back alley affair. Della won't ever expect more and she doesn't deserve more'." Tears came hard and fast now, choking off her words.

Elaine hugged her tightly, thankful to have been here when the emotional dam broke. Della was one of the strongest people she knew, but a lot had happened in the last twenty-four hours. Still, there wasn't much she more could do until the flood of tears had run their course.

Eventually, the sobs dwindled to sniffles.

Elaine held her at arms' length to see Della's face. "Okay now?"

"My head hurts," Della murmured, pressing the heel of her good hand to her temple in an unsuccessful attempt to relieve some of the pain.

"Where you hit it or just a general headache?" Elaine asked, choking back fresh concern.

"Old fashioned crying headache."

"Did the doctor give you something?"

"He did for last night. He said aspirin would be enough for today and it has."

"I'll be right back." Fetching the aspirin bottle from the bathroom, Elaine returned to the living room where Della had settled into the corner of the sofa. She sat down beside her and handed Della two pills along with a glass of water.

Della swallowed the medication and drained the water in a few long gulps then set the empty glass on the table.

"Better?" Elaine asked. When she got a confirming nod, she rubbed Della's shoulder reassuringly. "Listen to me - you deserve so much better than a louse like Stephen Raines."

The water had soothed her scratchy throat, but Della's voice was a bit rough as she replied, "He didn't think so."

"You're really worried about his opinion? The man who is planning to cheat on his wife before marries her? The man who thought slamming his car into a telephone pole was a good idea?"

"Stephen's a jerk," Della conceded with a sniff, "but that doesn't mean he's the only one who sees me that way. What if other men do, too?"

It broke Elaine's heart to see Della doubting herself this way. "They _don't_. Just forget about Stephen."

"How can I? I've got three stitches in my head, a sprain in one wrist and bruises on the other to remember him by." Tears welled again, but she blinked them away.

"Bruises? What bruises?"

Della pushed up her sleeve to reveal the finger shaped marks.

"Stephen did that?"

"I told you he grabbed me. He was trying to make me listen to him."

"Did he try anything else?"

"He didn't get the chance." The assurance came with a weak grin as Della raised her bandaged hand. "Right hook, remember?"

"You're not sorry he's out of your life, are you?"

"My heart's not broken if that's what you're asking. Stephen was fun to be with but I'm not in love with him. I just wish it had ended some other way. At least he was smart enough to become a lawyer instead of a criminal." Her own use of the word 'criminal' reminded her of the other important thing she wanted to tell her best friend. "Oh, by the way, I got the job with Perry Mason."

The casual, almost cavalier revelation stunned Elaine. "Good heavens! You started telling me about Stephen, and I completely forgot your interview was today. How did it go? Well, that's a silly question since you said you got the job."

"We got off to an interesting start. His receptionist was still at lunch, and he came out to greet me. I told him my name and that I had an appointment. He said there had been a mistake; he didn't handle personal injury cases."

"Personal injury?"

"He was looking at my hand. He thought the receptionist had double booked, but all she had done was write my name down wrong. She had it as Delia Strait."

Elaine grinned. "That's not bad if you ever need an alias... which is entirely possible, working for Mr. Mason. When did he offer you the job?"

"Did it right there in the office, during the interview. Once I realized he was serious, I accepted immediately... and the first thing I did was to hire him a new receptionist."

"What about the other one?"

"She never came back from lunch. He said he was going to have to hire a new one so I picked up the phone and called Adele Cooper. I thought it was just going to be a temp job until he could find a permanent one, but when I asked for Gertie Lade, Adele said she was available and looking for something permanent. Problem solved."

Elaine's mouth dropped open. "You snapped up Gertie Lade? You're incredible!"

"I was lucky," Della demurred, shrugging off the undue praise. "I was just the first one to ask. Adele probably wouldn't have done it solely on my request, but she knows Mr. Mason by reputation, too, so she was willing to offer it to Gertie. We'll both be new, but already knowing each other will make it a little easier." She sat back with a soft sigh. "I know Carol Fremont wants to marry a lawyer, but she has absolutely no idea how appealing having a disinterested boss can be."

Elaine had seen Mason's picture in the gossip columns, rarely with the same woman more than twice yet always with the same type: beautiful, petite, dark hair; the complete opposite of the statuesque, blonde - though beautiful - Carol.

But very much like Della.

_'It's isn't matchmaking, not really,'_ Elaine thought to herself. _'If Perry Mason doesn't date his secretaries, Della will have an excellent job with a boss who won't be chasing her around the desk. But if he has a type and has been waiting for the right one, then Della could definitely be it.'_

"When do you start?"

"Two weeks from Monday, but Mr. Hays was not pleased that I got another job without a reference from him. If he can find a way to get me out sooner, he will. Luckily, Mr. Mason said I can start any time."

"Mr. Mason really didn't call Mr. Hays for a reference?"

Della shook her head, half in response and half in continuing disbelief. "Mr. Mason didn't call anybody. He said he prefers his own opinions."

"Well, you certainly made a good impression," Elaine said. One thing still bothered her though. "He didn't question you too hard about your hand?" Newspaper stories about his cases were always filled with the clever ways he tripped people up on the witness stand.

"I'm sure he believed my story, but I'm equally sure he knows there's more to it. I can only imagine his cross-examination if he had seen the bruises. The rest of his questions were tough enough. He -"

Elaine raised both hands, cutting off whatever else her friend might have been about to say. "Wait a minute. Don't move."

Leaving a bewildered Della sitting on the couch, she hurried into the kitchen. The refrigerator opened and closed, dishes rattled and silverware clattered then she returned with a tray bearing dessert and coffee. She served Della before picking up her own plate.

Digging into her cake, Elaine grinned and said, "Start from the beginning and tell me everything."

"This is why you always get to eat dessert while my coffee gets cold," Della chided.

"It's also why you're two sizes smaller than me and sleep better at night. Now spill!"

Between bites, Della recounted the interview in detail.

**~P&D~**

Seeing Elaine to the door, Della gave her a hug. "Thanks for listening and letting me cry on your shoulder - literally."

"Get a good night's sleep, kid," Elaine advised. "Oh, exactly how polite do you expect me to be to Stephen in case I ever run into him?" It was a rare occurrence but it had happened before and she wanted to be prepared.

"Be the lady your mother raised you to be; he's not worth either of us getting upset anymore." After a good cry, Della was finding easier to be pragmatic about the whole event.

Puzzlement clouded Elaine's face at a very different thought. "Speaking of mothers, are you planning to tell your mother about all this?"

"Of course not," Della replied with an exaggerated shudder. "Like I told Mr. Mason, I was foolish but not stupid."

"Then exactly how am I supposed to write to Curtis that the right hook works without telling him how I know?"

Della stared at her for a long moment then the two of them burst into laughter.

TBC


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

Thursday

Della made a point of arriving early the next morning but found Claudia Allison waiting for her. Putting her purse and gloves away, she accepted the cup of coffee Claudia had ready.

"I appreciate it, but Mr. Hays won't. Never get him coffee before he arrives. He dislikes the idea of being considered predictable - but that's only because he is. He takes it black with one sugar in the morning, two sugars after lunch and always let him tell you that."

"I think Mr. Hays and I can iron out the minor details, but while he's not here, why don't you tell me the stuff you're not supposed to tell me."

Della admired the forthright request and responded in kind. "Protect yourself. I know what it's like in the secretarial pool. It's easy to talk to the other girls and commiserate about your bosses, but your reputation reflects on him even more than his reflects on you. Treat him like a client and don't discuss his business with anyone else. There may be gossip about him but you never want to run the risk of it being traced back to you. Lawyers bring money into the firm, secretaries don't. That's why they fire secretaries and not lawyers."

Claudia nodded her understanding. "What about the man himself?"

"You know his reputation, it's hard not to. He'll try something, but once he knows you won't put up with it - and won't embarrass him - he'll leave you alone. Think you can handle it?"

"Yes," Claudia said then added slyly, "but I think I need to have my boyfriend pick me up every day next week."

"Why?"

"He went to UCLA on a football scholarship. Defensive lineman... and a two time All American."

"Ah." Della liked the subtle visual message. "Oh, and make sure he meets Mrs. Hays. She'll still make your life miserable because she enjoys it but at least you'll have tried to show her your romantic attentions lie elsewhere."

"Okay, what's next?"

"We're standing in the middle of what's next. The desk set up is a bit awkward, but it's the only way to arrange the room so that you can see both doors. It limits the possibilities of Mr. Hays sneaking up on you. Never file from the front of a drawer; you can see more of the room if you stand to one side. Never leave your desk," the outer office door opened admitting Martin Hays but Della continued never missing a beat, "without a pad and a sharp pencil. A written note is always better than relying on your memory. Good morning, Mr. Hays. This is Claudia Allison. She'll be replacing me."

The man muttered something under his breath and stalked into his office, scarcely acknowledging the introduction.

Claudia didn't wait for direction from Della. She stepped just inside the open door and asked, "Would you care for coffee this morning, Mr. Hays?"

"Black, one sugar, and make sure it's fresh," he snarled. Opening his briefcase, he took a slip of paper from one of the folders inside. "Here," he said holding it out, "have Miss Street get these citations for me."

"Yes, sir," she acknowledged, closing the door behind her as she left.

Martin Hays stared at the door for a long moment then picked up the phone.

**~P&D~**

The personnel director reached to answer his ringing phone. "Burton Jefferies. Yes, I was... but, Mr. Hays, don't you... that's not... yes, sir, I understand. Yes, sir, I'll take care of it." He hung up, swearing softly.

His sudden, overwhelming need for coffee was a delaying tactic, but he didn't care. The conversation he was going to be having was one of the few parts of his job he disliked.

**~P&D~**

Jefferies stopped just in time to keep from colliding with the two women coming down the corridor. So much for coffee.

"Ah, Miss Street, I was going to call you. May I see you in my office for a moment?" Burton asked quietly.

Jefferies' attempt at discretion was unnecessary. Della and Claudia both could easily guess what was coming.

"I'll get Mr. Hays' coffee, then start on those citations, if you'd like?" Claudia offered.

Della gave her the slip of paper. "I'll meet you in the law library as soon as I'm finished."

**~P&D~**

Della sat calmly in her seat watching Burton Jefferies pace.

"Miss Street, you have been a valued employee here at Murphy and Young and as much as it pains me to say this..."

"You don't have to sugarcoat it for me. Mr. Hays called and he wants me out when? Today?" Della guessed.

Deflated - and relieved at her composed reaction - Burton slumped into his own chair. "Tomorrow. I'm sorry, I know how much two weeks' pay can mean."

"It's not a problem. Mr. Ma-" she caught herself, "uh, my new employer has said I can start anytime, so I guess Monday's it."

"Will you be able to give Claudia sufficient training in so short a time?"

"It will be a crash course, but she's good; that's why I chose her." She started to rise but sat back down. "There is one thing. Mr. Hays has two, no three, important appointments tomorrow but due to our newly abbreviated timeframe, Claudia and I will need to spend most of the day at the courthouse. Could you arrange for Mrs. Denton to cover the office while we're gone?

Burton didn't bother to suppress his amusement. A no nonsense widow who had been compelled to go back to work when her husband died, Mrs. Denton was the very antithesis of Martin Hayes' visual preference for a secretary. The request was a perfect response to the man's pettiness.

**~P&D~**

Claudia commandeered two seats at the lunch counter in the corner drugstore while Della went to make a phone call.

"Perry Mason's office." Professional, but pleasant, just the right first impression.

"Hi, Gertie, it's Della Street."

"Oh, Miss Street, I'm so glad you called," the receptionist chirped brightly. "I want to thank you for recommending me to Mr. Mason. This is just my first day, and I already know I'll like it here."

"I'm glad you were available, Gertie, and please call me Della." There was a silent 'thank you' prayer in her sigh of relief.

"All right; so what can I do for you, Della?"

"Would Mr. Mason have a minute to speak with me?"

"He's not here at the moment, although I expect him any time now."

Glancing through the narrow window of the phone booth, Della saw Claudia giving their order to the waitress. "Well, then would you please let him know that circumstances have changed, and I will be starting on Monday instead of in two weeks?"

"Is that good news, or bad news? I mean I know it's good that you'll be here sooner, but -"

Della smoothly cut into the other woman's concerned babble. "Yes, Gertie, it's very good news."

"I'm glad... for you and for us. Oh, hold on a minute."

Muffled voices came over the wire and Della assumed the deeper one belonged to her new employer.

Gertie came back on the line "Della? Mr. Mason just came in and wants to talk with you."

"All right."

It took only a few seconds for the call to be transferred and for him to pick up.

"Miss Street?"

"Good afternoon, Mr. Mason." She didn't say any more, letting him take the lead.

"Gertie tells me you're starting on Monday. Are they giving you a bad time over there?"

"Not really. You don't have to worry about any irate calls. Even though it will be common knowledge soon enough, I'm not telling anyone where I'm going."

"I can handle any irate calls," he assured her, "but why aren't you telling them you're coming to work for me?"

"Being a confidential secretary doesn't just mean I don't talk about your clients."

"No one knows?" The idea that she could keep the whole thing secret amazed him.

"No one at Murphy and Young. Of course, you heard me tell Adele Cooper," she conceded, "but that was so she would know my request for a receptionist was valid. Other than that, I've only told one person."

"And you're so certain that person won't say anything?"

Her reply was swift and unhesitating. "Absolutely. We grew up together. A new job is nothing compared to the other secrets she keeps for me."

"Secrets plural, hmm? Now, she sounds like someone I should talk to."

"You have a way with witnesses, counselor, but when it comes to protecting me, my money's on Elaine Nelson every time."

He knew the name but it took a moment to click. "Elaine Nelson? Judge Helton's secretary?" Suddenly he had a context for the fleeting familiarity he had sensed yesterday. "That's where I saw you. A week or so ago, as I was coming out of his chambers."

"Yes." She was surprised the encounter had even registered with him much less that he remembered it... or her.

"I nearly ran you down." The low, throaty laugh that came over the wire conjured an instant image of brandy and soft lights and he struggled to concentrate on her reply.

"No, you simply opened the door before I could. Trust me, I've been run down at that door before." The amusement was clear in her voice. "I'm sorry I have to make this call so short, but I'm giving a two week training course in two days and that means a working lunch."

"Now you know the sort of training you'll get here. I'll see you on Monday."

"Goodbye, Mr. Mason."

**~P&D~**

Hanging up the phone, Perry thought for a moment before reaching into the desk drawer to pull out a sheet of stationery. He penned a quick note then placed it along with a key in a plain envelope. He sealed the missive and went back to the reception area.

"Gertie," he held out the envelope, "this needs to be delivered to Miss Street today. You'll find the name and number of the messenger service we use in the files. Instruct them that it must be signed for by Miss Street and no one else."

She looked up at him with wide eyes. Things happened fast around here. "Yes, Mr. Mason."

"I'm going down to Clay's for a quick bite. When I get back, you can turn the phones over to the service while you're at lunch."

"Yes, sir." Gertie was pleased by his conscientiousness in making sure she ate. It might not last, but she would enjoy it for now.

**~P&D~**

Della was explaining to Claudia the note she was making in Mrs. Jenkins' file about the need for a more specific description of the brooch she wanted to leave to her daughter-in-law when she was interrupted by the ringing phone.

"Mr. Hays' office."

"Della, there's a delivery for you," Sally said from the reception desk.

"Thanks, I'll pick it up in a few minutes."

"You need to come get it now."

"Why? Who's it from?"

"I don't know. It's just an envelope with your name on it marked personal and confidential."

"Well, I wasn't expecting anything so it will have to wait just a bit."

Sally was getting impatient with Della's lack of interest in the mysterious envelope. "The messenger says I can't sign for it; it has to be you."

Her mind still on all the information she needed to cover with Claudia, Della reluctantly conceded to the summons. "I'm on my way." Hanging up, she handed the file to her replacement. "Read through this and I'll be right back."

**~P&D~**

Della took the clipboard, signed in the designated place and noted the sender's address - the Brent Building. The feminine handwriting on the envelope must be Gertie's.

While it was already all over the firm that she was leaving, the fact that she wouldn't say where she was going had spawned a great deal of speculation. An unusual delivery like this would add fuel to the flames of speculation because Sally noticed everything and kept quiet about nothing. Della was suddenly, irrationally terrified that Mr. Mason had changed his mind about hiring her. Her thank you to the messenger as she hurried from the reception area was an insincere rote response she would be ashamed of later.

Stopping in the ladies' lounge, Della paused only long enough to determine the room was empty before taking a deep breath and sliding her finger under the sealed flap to open the envelope. She took out the folded sheet and felt something hard inside. The something fell out, bouncing on the floor with a clang. Picking up the key, she wrapped warm fingers around the cool metal before turning her attention to the accompanying message. Bold concise script, very different from that on the envelope, flowed across the page.

_Miss Street,_

_Enclosed is a key to the office, and there will be a list of current cases on your desk. Miss Lade takes the phones from the service at 8:00 and I'll be in around 9:00. I look forward to working with you._

_Perry Mason_

Relief flooded Della's system, leaving her light-headed as she sank slowly on to a small bench.

She read the note two more times before realizing that it didn't say when she was expected. If this was some sort of test, she had no intention of failing. _'Earlier is better,'_ she decided firmly. _'7:00 a.m. Monday morning sounds like a good time to start a whole new life.'_

Returning the note and the key to the envelope, she tucked it into the pocket of her suit jacket. She left the lounge trying not to gloat as she headed back to her office to tie up the last loose ends of her old life.

**~P&D~**

After she ate dinner and did the dishes, Della curled into her favorite chair and picked up the phone.

"Hello?" came the familiar voice from the other end.

"Elaine, it's me."

"Hi, kid. What's new?"

"Do you have plans for Saturday? Aside from attending Elliot's gig?" Elliot's group was good and they worked more regularly than most so Della's supposition that they were booked somewhere this weekend was liable to be more right than wrong.

"Not really," Elaine said. "Why?"

"I thought we could get together with some of the girls for lunch and then shopping."

"Sounds good, but what brought this on?"

"I may not get to see any of you for awhile. I start working for Perry Mason on Monday."

Della's bombshell received the response it deserved.

"Monday! What happened to your two weeks' notice?"

"Mr. Hays decided he didn't want me around that long. I think he might have heard me telling Claudia about pencils. I turned it into an instruction about taking notes instead of trying to remember everything - which is true enough - but he knew what I was really talking about. He called Mr. Jefferies and that was it."

Elaine thought it was a good thing though she didn't say it. Now Della had two jerks out of her life. "So you've let Mr. Mason know you're coming earlier than expected?"

"I called at lunch and he had a key to the office sent over by messenger less than an hour later. The note that came with it said Gertie starts at eight and he'll be there by nine but nothing about my schedule."

"So you'll be going in at seven, right?"

Della sighed. "Am I that predictable?"

"Only because I've known you all your life," Elaine reminded her. "What I find interesting is that Mr. Mason already seems to know you well enough to believe you don't need instructions on every little detail."

"Or he's testing me to see if I show up at 10:00."

"Are you nervous?"

"Yes, but then I've had butterflies ever since I set up the interview on Monday."

They talked on for a bit longer, dividing up the job of calling their other friends to set up the excursion for Saturday.

TBC


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

Friday

Sitting in the quiet courthouse cafeteria that would soon be filling up, Della couldn't help but recall how the chain of events that changed her life over the last two weeks had started right here. _'Well, actually it started in the ladies' room,'_ she corrected herself with a smothered grin. _'If I hadn't overheard Carol Fremont, none of this would have happened.'_

She was under no illusions about her new boss. He was hard charging and demanding and he was going to expect her to keep up with him from the very start.

Della also suspected the attorney had a very large, very soft heart. No one could be as vehement about exacting justice for the innocent and be an ogre.

Claudia arrived with lunch - her treat for having been chosen as Della's replacement - turning Della's thoughts back to list of small details they needed to go over.

**~P&D~**

Saturday

Perry was unlocking his private door when he heard his name called. Paul's easy stride covered the distance quickly, and they entered the office together.

"I got the Waterston report -" the detective broke off as Perry waved him to silence, pointing at the door to the center office that stood slightly ajar.

Crossing the room, they heard someone moving around. Perry pulled on the door just enough to get it moving.

Della Street knelt in front of the row of file cabinets, returning files to the bottom drawer of the last cabinet. "Good morning, Mr. Mason, Mr. Drake," she said without looking up as the door behind her swung open. "I left the door ajar so I could hear if you came in."

Paul grinned. "She may be too smart for us, Perry."

Mason didn't admit he had reached the same conclusion during the interview. "What are you doing here on Saturday?"

"I would ask you the same question, but from what I understand, it isn't an uncommon occurrence for you and won't be for me." She flashed a smile at them over her shoulder. "As for today, I wanted to take a couple of hours to familiarize myself with the layout of the office. I prefer to spend my first morning learning the job, not walking into closets or looking for the coffee pot." Her fingers skimmed quickly over the file tabs, found the right spot, made a space and replaced another file. Lifting the folder was awkward with her left hand, but she seemed to have found a workable system.

"What if I need one of those?" He wasn't sure which cases were in those particular files, but it seemed like a reasonable possibility.

"It's easier to find something in a file cabinet than it is to hunt for it in a stack. Besides, they're not on the list of current cases. Those are in the bottom, right hand drawer of my desk. It's locked but," she pointed to a small object on the edge of the desk, "I found an extra key for you to keep handy in case I'm not here." She closed the drawer and moved to stand.

Rounding the desk, Perry put a hand under her left elbow to help her up - and get a closer look at the bruises he had noticed on her forearm.

"Are these mostly your fault, too?" he asked, watching her face intently. Perry didn't like men who hurt women, and he didn't understand women who protected those men. He also didn't understand the twist in his gut at the thought of any man hurting Della Street, a woman he had met only three days ago and talked to for little more than an hour. He rationalized it away as concern for a new employee.

She pushed the lock closed on the file cabinet then looked him in the eye and replied, "No, they're entirely _**his**_ fault," her cheeks flushing lightly as she pulled down the sleeve of her soft yellow sweater, "and one of the lesser reasons I don't like him very much anymore."

He didn't press the matter so Della pretended not to see the glance he exchanged with Paul.

"I spoke with Avery, the weekend building supervisor, this morning. There seems to have been some sort of miscommunication about cleaning services." Della didn't share her suspicion that Carol Fremont had canceled the services in a fit of pique for being let go a week early. "He'll have a crew up here tonight. I put away all the files and books but I left instructions that nothing was to be thrown out unless it was a coffee cup. They're not to move or restack anything, just dust around whatever they find. At least the ashtrays and trash cans will get emptied."

Perry hadn't noticed how cluttered the office had gotten but the results of her efforts were obvious. With the files and books gone, the place just looked... filthy. It was a good thing there hadn't been many clients in the office this week.

"I want to thank you for finding Gertie Lade for me." The woman was a bit of a chatterbox, but she was professional and had settled into the job with a minimum of instruction. "I spoke with Adele Cooper yesterday to make it permanent."

"I'm glad she was available and wanted a change. Quite a few people are going to be annoyed when they learn Gertie is off the market. It's possible, Mr. Mason, that you have just scored the hiring coup of the year."

"I believe I've scored two."

She blushed and changed the subject. "Did you ever hear from your errant receptionist?"

"Miss Gentry called late yesterday to tell me where to send her check."

"I hope she didn't ask for a reference."

"Her boyfriend proposed over lunch." He shrugged. It didn't seem very romantic to him - not that he had any practical experience in the matter. Still, women usually expected more effort with that sort of thing. "She's going to be spending the next several months making wedding plans, so a reference won't be an issue. Speaking of lunch, would you care to join us?"

"Thank you for the offer, gentlemen, but I already have plans with some girlfriends. I thought it might be awhile before I got out of here early enough - or had energy enough if I did - to get to see them." She double checked the desk then picked up her purse and gloves. "I'll see you Monday morning. If you need me for anything before then, you have my number, Mr. Mason."

"I believe in formality when the situation calls for it. That's not in this office and not between the two of us. You're Della, I'm Perry."

"And I'm Paul," the detective chimed in with a boyish grin.

"May I be granted a grace period to get used to that?"

He had been an associate at a large firm before he opened his own practice and knew the formality that most required. It could be a hard habit to break. "Fair enough. I'll see you Monday, Della. Enjoy the afternoon with your friends."

As the door clicked shut behind her, Perry turned. "Paul, I want you to check into that 'minor car accident' of hers. She said it happened Tuesday night."

"You think there's an ex-boyfriend who could be trouble?"

"She doesn't seem frightened of him, but I want to know more. Just because she thinks it's over doesn't mean he does."

"I'll get on it right after lunch. You want that Waterston report now?"

Perry clapped him on the shoulder. "Let's go down to Clay's, and you can tell me about it then."

**~P&D~**

Stepping off the bus, Della was glad to find Elaine standing alone outside the store.

"Hey, kid." She saw the slight panic in Della's eyes. "What is it? What's happened?"

"Listen, I probably don't have much time before the others get here. Mr. Mason saw the bruises on my arm."

Elaine frowned in confusion. "How? When?"

"I went to the office this morning." Della's nose wrinkled in distaste at the memory. "The place was a mess when I was there on Wednesday, and it was even worse this morning. I had to turn right around and find the building super to get a cleaning crew in there. I swear Mr. Mason never actually poured out the old coffee, just made more on top of it. You could probably waterproof a pair of boots with the sludge I scraped out of that pot. I put away files on at least forty cases and I have no idea why they were out since he left a list of only twelve current cases. Carol's been gone a week. How could things get that bad in a week?"

"The bruises, Della," Elaine prompted, getting her friend back on track, "how did he see the bruises?"

"I had my sleeves pushed up out of the way so I wouldn't snag my sweater while I was filing. He came in with Mr. Drake, and I just didn't think about it. He saw the bruises and now I know he's going to have Mr. Drake investigate the accident."

"Is there something more to it that you didn't tell me?"

"No, I told you everything that happened."

"Then don't worry about it." She had worked with plenty of private detectives when Judge Helton was a lawyer trying cases. "Since he knows it was a car accident, he'll look for a police report, probably talk to the officer. Depending on what he learns there, my guess is he'll see what the doctor has to say. He'll find out about those stitches for certain."

"I don't care about that. Do you think he'll talk to Stephen?"

"He might."

"Who knows what he'll say! I've already left Murphy and Young," Della groaned, "I can't lose this job."

"Umm, did you read the paper this morning?" It felt like rubbing salt in the wound but the question needed to be asked.

"Yes, and I saw the engagement announcement." Della could admit they made a nice couple but she also thought Alicia Mead looked as though she would be smarter than to fall for - what had Elaine called him the other night? - ah, a weasel - like Stephen. Then again, Della herself hadn't seen him as a weasel until four days ago.

"There's a good chance that Mr. Mason or Mr. Drake or both saw it, too."

Della buried her face in her hands. "He's going to think he's hired a disaster in the making."

"He'll think no such thing," Elaine soothed, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. "You've already made it clear you won't be seeing Stephen again and after the announcement in the paper, he'll know part of the reason why."

"But what if Mr. Mason thinks I got mad because Stephen is marrying someone else, not me."

"Listen, Della, right now you're working yourself up over what could be nothing. Mr. Drake can do his investigation and report to Mr. Mason. If he's got a problem with any of it, let him bring it up. You just learn the job; prove yourself with your work."

"I'm not worried about the job," Della said, relaxing under the steadying influence of her best friend. "The hard part is going to be calling my boss by his first name."

"Why would you do that?"

"Because he told me to."

"Why would he do that?"

"He said he doesn't believe in formality in the office."

Elaine snickered. "Yeah, well, Carol Freemont would say he didn't believe in enough familiarity in the office to suit her."

They were still laughing when their other friends arrived and asked what was so funny.

**~P&D~**

Perry Mason pored over law books, making notes for a brief that would be the first order of business Monday morning, oblivious to the fact that night had settled over the city. He had just located the last citation he needed when the phone rang.

"Mason."

"Well, Perry," Paul drawled from the other end, "you've found yourself one heck of a secretary."

In a split second, Mason's thoughts shifted from the brief to the assignment he had given the detective that afternoon... and the reason for it. "Is that good or bad?"

"Better than good." Drake's tone changed from casual to all business. "The car accident story is legit. Car was owned and driven by a Stephen Raines. He's your garden variety associate at Benson-Mead; handles low level corporate cases. They have been dating, though not exclusively, about six months."

"Stephen Raines? Seems I've read that name somewhere recently."

"You have. An engagement announcement in the paper today. Stephen Raines to Alicia Mead, only daughter of Alton and Charisse Mead. Probably won't remain a garden variety associate much longer. That announcement is the reason I didn't speak to Raines directly."

"If the engagement was in the paper today, what was Raines doing with Della on Tuesday?"

"Driving his car into a telephone pole. A prowl car showed up just after it happened. I talked to the cop, a Mark Donovan. He was reluctant to talk to me until I assured him you were concerned for her welfare and her job wasn't in jeopardy. He didn't believe Raines' story of swerving to miss a dog from the minute he heard it. He can't prove it, but he's sure the accident was intentional though not intended to be severe."

"Possibly to conceal the already existing injuries to Della?"

"That's where it gets more interesting. She was bleeding from a small head wound and had that banged up right hand; Donovan says the injuries appeared consistent with the accident. The broken nose Raines was sporting didn't. He's too tall to hit his nose on the steering wheel as he claimed; should have lost a couple of teeth instead. Plus there was no fresh blood on him, his clothes or the steering wheel and there were already bruises under his eyes. When Raines didn't want to go to the hospital, Della suddenly felt faint."

"She was trying to get away from him." Perry's gaze was drawn through the open door to the next office. He felt the same twist in his gut he had felt upon seeing the bruises marring Della's porcelain skin.

Paul heard the edge in Perry's voice and offered information he hoped would calm his friend. "Donovan saw it the same way, and he said the same thing you said earlier - she didn't seem to be afraid of Raines. He put them both in the prowl car, took them to the hospital and made sure Della got treated first. She told the doctor she was thrown sideways hitting her head and arm on the car door. She's got three stitches in her forehead under that pretty, dark hair of hers. Dr. Adam Milburn at the Mercy Hospital emergency room agrees with Donovan that the head injury occurred in the accident and so did the wrist but there were a couple of minor scrapes on her hand that look more like she had thrown a punch. He didn't see any bruises on her other arm but said those could have surfaced later."

"You're saying the doctor thinks Della could have been responsible for breaking Raines' nose?" Perry's regard for the petite brunette was growing with every revelation.

"A distinct possibility. It backs up Donovan's supposition about Raines putting the car into the telephone pole deliberately. He could have been trying to come up with an alternate story for his broken nose."

"I can see how it would be awkward for him to tell his fiancée that his ex-girlfriend punched him."

"Well, Donovan saw the announcement in the paper, too; recognized Raines' picture and name. He has no proof, of course, but in hindsight his theory is that Raines broke up with Della by telling her about his engagement."

"Even if she didn't love him it couldn't have been pleasant to find out he had been seeing someone else, but what made it turn physical? How did it end up with her arm bruised and his nose broken?"

"We've both seen how vehement people can be when they're trying to justify their actions, particularly when they've already been told they're in the wrong. Maybe she was smart enough not to want to stick around listening to his, he grabbed her -"

"- and Della reacted." The evidence was circumstantial but instinct told Perry that the scenario Paul had pieced together was the most likely one.

"You only told me to check out the accident, but I know a couple of girls at Murphy and Young so I asked a few questions. Word is Della was less pleased about having to work for Martin Hays himself than with his legal specialty. There's a lot of speculation about how she got him to keep his hands to himself but no confirmable details. As I said, you've got yourself one heck of a secretary."

"Yes, Paul, I believe I do. Thanks." Dropping the receiver in the cradle, Perry rose, stretched and ambled over to the open slider.

When his gaze returned to his desk, the books spread out there caught his attention. He flipped each one closed, stacked them up and gathered them in a single armload to carry into the law library. He was sliding the last one into place on the shelf when he realized that his new secretary hadn't even started working yet and she already had him cleaning up after himself.

Della Street was going to be an interesting addition to his office.

The End


End file.
